• Born an artist,
    She lives to be loved,
    Desired, wanted;
    Neglected, hated.
    Sitting on her dark cloud,
    She looks down on the world.
    The morbid poems she writes,
    A prediction of its fate;
    The picture she paints,
    A black, bloody past, present, future,
    Ending in tragedy, turmoil.
    Only in her mind,
    This dark, cruel world
    Is perfect.
    Only for her...