Sweet Thing

Hey,
what's up, Sweet Thing?
You look stunning:
hair grown long
and died
platinum blond,
tight clothes gripping your cold
fair skin,
nails nicely manicured,
face made up so that
I can barely recognize you.
You've grown so much.

Sweet Thing,
how's life?
How's the family?
How are the friends?
Is school going well?
Studying hard,
getting A's,
I hope.
(laugh.)
Of course you are.

Hey, Sweet Thing,
I noticed a couple of cuts
making patterns on
your ankle.
Are you all right?
It's from your cat,
right?
(It must be.)
It's ok,
you'll heal.
People get hurt
all the time.
Accidents
happen.

Sweet Thing,
lately I've been trying
to look in your eyes,
but they're too cold,
Sweet Thing.
The black eyeliner you use
is a wall, pushing me away.
Where's the fire,
where's the warmth?
I try to see the child
that used to live in your eyes,
the child that
made them smile.

Sweet Thing,
you're stunning,
but you're empty.
Where's the girl
who believed in fairies?
It's been such a long
lonely time
without you.