"Who is Her" 

Victim of depression.
Victim of oppression. 
Been dragged by the dark,
Imprisoned by the past. 

My eyes were blind
Unable to see the right path.
Wounds that's been kept,
Twinging inside as fear crept.

That's when I picked up a pen.
I couldn't recall when,
With a touch of ink everything begins,
There on a piece of paper I wrote what has been hidden.

I wrote my sorrow, I wrote my world.
I used thy pen to mend my wound
I wrote the trace of tears that had fallen,
From the eyes of a girl who only wants to be listened.

Every letter has her story,
Every words was a duplicate of her mystery.
Her messages will reveal,
Her messy roses will tell.