Unapparent curves adumbrate her acicular, yet divine, goddess-like figure, as she baringly graces the sturdy pole with her wobbling confidence. The devil slitheringly dares her to dance; as the angel agonizingly deplores her rehearsed steps. She breaks the unbroken and smashes the fixed, as the beat repeats every hellish night and the lights of shame beam down on her darkness; confiscating her glory and pride. An endless list of wrong turns drastically surpasses her lengthy 5-inch weapons, yet she stays and sways her dignity away. The hollers and screams, to her on-scene display, release a sense of feeling craved. Her misperceived sensation of being viewed as undesirable, inadequate, and insufficient drifts from her core as she strattles the floor. Clandestinely though, she hopes for the ground to collapse beneath her to salvage the scraps of her hidden purity. Another dance, a few additional bills, before she perhaps renounces to the only her she has ever truly been expected to be. Entirely lost, in her magnetic performance, her hair strands veil her breasts like a curtain hiding the pain in her liberated chest. Tomorrow, she will flutter like an angel, but tonight she dances as the devil claims her soul.