She is a Happy Person.

Her.

She's distant.

She's lost in dreaming.

calm on the outside.

Inside she's screaming.

She used to be diverse.

Her mind tainted with colour.

Her eyes saw the what others could not.

Her eyes made stars look duller.

She read like she depended on it

Old papers were here skin.

Veins that ran in her body

Pumped with jet black ink.

She fell in love with words.

Fluent in letters of poetry.

She grasped ideas like no one could

Whether euphoric or desultory.

They said she saw beyond

Boundaries held no meaning to her,

Venturing into minds of men.

She saw, she felt, she hurt.

She mastered in the arts of love.

The arts of love and lying.

Happy she may seem to be

But inside she was dying.

Her mind was tainted with colour

The colours black and bitter.

Her smile held a deceptive front.

Her smile had only killed her.

She read like she depended on it.

Only to read horror and gore.

The rushing ink was toxic sludge.

Venomous muck and no cure.

She fell in love with words.

And every word she spoke was true.

Alas the problem was, she thought

That everyone's words held honesty too.

They said she saw beyond

the boundaries never crossed by youth

She saw livid, vile, merciless men.

Drunk on power and vermouth.

Destroyed at her zenith

Her heart went in exile.

Now she's lost in clouded thoughts

And wears a broken smile.