She abandoned all then for her fate
Her darker appetites to sate
Where one was not enough to please her
A dozen came and so diseased her
And left all seeing now it’s plain
The future she can’t have again.
She ponders counting on her hole
In braille, the cost of her vain goal;
To be “the best” for every one
Except the best, whom she did shun.
None at all beyond the pale
In cafe, bar, or through the mail,
Who offer her ill ways to be
More than her mediocrity.
Her fate determined by the mean
Of hubris and low self esteem.