From a Throne to a Grave

My front has crumbled holes in the weakest parts,
Pieces falling into the dust.
My eyes are shifty and blinded,
And my faces are ever changing.
The voices I hear to match my heart
Are an endless draw the line game.
Eraser burns from running out of patience and choices.
I'm visibly arguing with my reflection and figured over my shoulder...
You tell me I'm not the girl you once loved,
But I can't reach your outstretched hand
Through the static behind my screen.
I'm just a jester scorned.
Banished from the court
And defamed by taking a beggars scraps.
My words allude to a prince and a pauper,
But these entities inside are one and the same.
My name means queen,
But my throne is made of mobile home scraps
and two week notices left unfinished.
My hands were strong and young,
but these chains are breaking my spirit.
I'm calling out to you, ex lovers, and long lost brothers...
You hear my cry,
but we're only slipping farther and farther away.
My sunshine...
I'm buried six feet under.