She meekly chased after
nonexistent moonbeams
  in rose fashioned pipe
       dreamt illusions,
as visual stimuli to
        rock her existence
of inklings' stark impressions
  inciting some exertion
       in her bland universe,
she was ever so ordinarily dull
even her reflection in the
    deepest sapphire seas,  
  appeared as drab dishwater
she lived in a world of her
   own fabricated deception
still, she wondered why every
   impaled consequence was an
   arranged shade of washed-out gray