Screams, laughter, silence;
its like an ongoing battle;
feel that sting running through.

They say shes gone mad,
but is this act true?
Shes good at one, and yet shes still bad
always claiming to be “made brand new”,
yet nothing can keep her from the dangerous sad.

We hear the absence in her laughter;
we see her flaunt her false pride;
we question her ways of changing right after;
we notice the flaws in her glide.

Her perfection is obsolete.
She plays her life like a card game
the king is her bluff, but her hand holds the joker in discrete.
She seeks to be cuddled, held, and tame.

Her shadows are cast over the lands;
she exists not her nor there;
she is the foundation of our holding hands;
she and we are everywhere.

She is not one but all;
she will be the cause of our downfall.