The Queen

 The Queen! How old and wrinkly she's become--used up and frail. Tradition still runs in her heart and her old gray hairs are silver and bright. Her body sways to the left, then to the right. Often times I believe she may fall from her debilitated bones that no longer support her. Skin and bones, with little flesh still left over to pass her as human. Her voice is shaky and weary, cracking at every word she speaks. All that Shields her fourteen year old self. Throwing back the morals and reveling a more rebellious typical girl. Her demeanour knows no bounds as to why she speaks in a newly defined voice. The brat within her comes through an loosens up her wrinkle smile into something sinister. Four, five? I cannot count. Her age varies from one to ten. Her stature is no longer her priority, rather it is her livelihood she prospers.