Memoirs of a Whore

At times I flip old photos searching for my legacy

The fear of failing is legit, not the girl playing with Legos
see,
I’m always torn between two battling portraits of a mirror
The hunger to dream big again could not be more herer

The one flaunts dreams of luminal azalea < she’s a hero
Her steps resound Odyssean promenades < I can hear her
The other’s eyes hold drug paraphernalia > she’s a whore
Teetotums me amongst the ace of spades > nothing here rare

Both portraits are my past, my lovers and my enemies
The one is purity, the other’s horror nemesis
Both girls in fear and zeal to escape troubled childhood start
I can’t allow the weeping whore to rip the child apart