Innocence follows her, but inside she's wild,
She thinks of things that shouldn't be thought.
Her mind plays tricks while her heart ceases desire,
A fiction of its own, a lesson never taught.
And as she lays in bed at night, her eyes never truly close,
Seeing the colors in silhouette form, the painful memory shows.
The pitter-patter of a heart, beaten and broken yet fixed,
The silent screams in the dark, yet not a sound, transfixed.
A rage trapped beneath her light, she refuses to become what she hates,
The river that flows within her veins, a poison left to manipulate.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, she sings the melody again,
Paper bags and plastic hearts, a tune for only the insane.
"Each one has a color" she points to them all "some light and some dark"
"But those colors change in life when that person changes their mark."