Poetry

Painted

A reflection of her soul,

The center of her being;

An empty black hole,

Is this her you're seeing?

A bright smile painted to convince,

The blonde, shimmering locks,

Make them believe there's no scars on her wrists,

That she hasn't stepped out of that box.

The box of happiness and joys;

Innocence and friends.

Her eyes are the key,

They lock what's within;

It's dark with nothing to see,

She never wanted this to begin.