She was an art
In the purest form possible
She was bizzare like
Really bizzare
She set her eye towards the dying sun
She danced through the night
Like puppet on the string
And that what she truly was
The bleeding heart of yours
She was
Trapped away in her own darkness
She never crossed the line to the light
Was she scared of you or was it only a myth?
She will never truly know
She vanished one night after midnight
All she left behind was a small book
Of her poems
To some she was bizzare
To others just a pure art
