Scraping Against paper that will not Yield

Poor child, she weeps
alone within her darkened closet of desires
 

her true nature
a secret hidden from the eyes of the world.
 

She sits silent,
a strained wistfullnes upon her brow
 

whilst friends and foes alike,
contemplate and discuss, their future prospects bright.
 

Her fate, as writ by the cruelest of gods,
offers no hope, no joy, no peace
 

Small comfort
sought through caffeine and nicotine fall flat
 

she lies still.
a wasted member of humanity.