Her voice is as timid as frozen liquid,
A sordid reminder of the Grim Reaper.
Her mind's a battle field, battles through ask of eternity.
Her eyes are hollow, bearing the sorrows of all humanity.

She needs a fix that no one's willing to give.
Her mind's without a sieve, an entry point for all things unclean.

Her mind's been raided, possessed by all things impure.
The line between good and bad obliterated,
Her eyes blindfolded.
She really needs help or she's a goner.

Yours,

A. W.