To the girl I travelled with,
The girl who threw stones at the Queen Victoria's statue in Victoria's memorial.
The girl who spoke about pain with a twisted sense of humor
You shall never be sober, how can you ever be?
A poem about a poem.
Hitched and snitched about
Strolling forever on an abandoned route
Silky smooth hair drenched in blood
Blood molasses and dried on her wounds
Crushed by the world and strayed away
Resembling the wild orchids all too well
Opening red portals on everyone
Used, abused and reduced
But the orchids still stand
Under downpours, it stands
Under the sucking sun too
(Glucon d ad reference)
Crushed in a crowd but alone like a crow
Either way she has a crown on her head
But by the end of the day
When she thuds on her bed
She realizes that truly
There is no help at bay
