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She’s young and she’s beautiful.

She brightens up a room when she enters.

Everyone who sees her, they want to know her.

Just one look, and they long to know her story.


Who is she, where did she come from?

She might just be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

On the outside she’s perfect,

But on the inside she’s empty.


You see the lines, the shadows, the shapes that make up her body.

You see the colors and images that come together to construct her perfection.


But what controls her is not seen by the naked eye.

Just by looking, you can not see the dark cloud that covers her,

that hovers like a bird waiting for a moment of weakness to take it’s prey.


It takes from her, but that’s not all.

It reaches through like an infection, clinging to every part it can grab.


For she is not one, she is many.

The heart that beats within her receives life from many other vessels.


It is held constant by an invisible, indestructible string.

On the other end of the string, you’ll find a spiderweb.

It is connected to every heart that has laid eyes on her.

Who has experienced love at a first glance.

Who close their eyes and cannot forget her face.

Who have taken a stock in her; who have shared her heart.


You see her and want to know her story,

but it is more than you can bargain for.


For those who do, feel a remorse.

For the things they cannot change,

For the past they cannot fix.

For what is to come in the future.


What she does not realize,

is she is not just her.

They are her, and she is them.


And every beat, they can feel.

And every pain, they share.


She thinks she is alone, but she has never been there.


She has never been alone,

but its her who needs to see,

she belongs to everyone,

she belongs to me.