And there she was

The harlot wrote a poem about a convoluted dream
The world mocked her convoluted life instead
A little pleasure and more distasteful nights
An extravagant walk with no one in particular
She dropped all the coins like stones in the sea
The no one in particular didn't even notice
Smaller the nights, more messed up the dreams
One where she floats in the sky
One where she flies in the sea
With no lover in sight
she walked out of the dream
The night was over but the morning refused to say hello
A fake bright face was turning into yellow
There was just a corner now
And a lovely picturesque twilight
This is where I ought to be, she thought
And there she was, to borrow Virginia Woolf's line