A person with cold hands as she guide herself in this selfish land.

With poems as her journal,

While music is her key.

Seemingly waiting for her burial.

Or the time when the truth is free.

What gate must be true,

Serving as a map is her hues.

Dominant color at the moment is black.

Peculiar is she,

But rather normal in the universal perspective.

Another atom, 

In this tiny speck of dust called humanity.

That's all you need to know about me.