Once there was a girl who was simple but cold.

She had the box of mysteries hidden deep within her soul.

She murmured the tales about life in air for the audience to hear.

But what she didn’t know was everyone was deaf for wisdom.

She wrote down her miseries with blade on her skin.

Then cleaned the blood and pulled down her sleeves.

She sat on the roof with legs dangling in air, free and loose.

The height terrifying her so she couldn’t jump down dead on street.

The dresses lying in her wardrobe were all torn and too big.

But it weren’t the clothes which changed rather she just shrunk like withered leaf.

The words she wrote were read by many but no one knew the face.

She made sure to let her name be hidden just like her dark soul in chest.

Soon she let the smoke fill her lungs and captivate her mind in senses unknown.

The world started becomung dizzy and her eyes rolling back.

Her mind and heart were wandering places unseen, unhuman.

The plaster of her wall seem to be turning black from grey.

So was her life, seem to be fading too soon afar, away.

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