In times where her frighten consume gives her a dare to sham for it as the rain cry along with her agony and bewilderment also beyond the pale through veins.

Is there anybody would sit with her for just a coffee?

She beg herself to stay in her dress assume the truth would be just kick out in frame.

Why would she let anyone to make her own script? She can clap as it is with her own bare hands.

In the middle of unicorns her affection reflects as morning dew.

She's the rainbow who loves a her.

A rainbow doesn't needs storm 'cause it shines on it's own.

She can have the brush as the love grows in shade of the art.