She was born pure and simple
Brought into the world so innocent, so delicate
She looked around, desiring knowledge
Yet fascinated only to the unthinkable
And down the pike, she became repulsive
Does not recognise happiness
Though to most, she seems content, calm, at ease
Yet she felt only soreness
The deeper she gazed into her own eyes,
She somehow sees only resentment
She can be high-strung
But often overshadowed by melancholia - her own gloom, the blue devils
Until she reached her depths
Tight-lipped, tongue-tied, close-mouthed, not even murmurs
The girl with the frown would only shrug
And later cut deep into her own skin
And the art on her body were not just scars
The masterpiece placed close to her wrists indicates the end of her war
"Forever fighting a battle," she said. "And the demons have won."
The razor was her paintbrush
Her body was the canvas
But her masterpieces were never on display
Only when she died today
-PRK-
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