She looses her mind on a daily basis
Leaving it behind in a formation of scribbles.
She carries stories woven in the dark
Like uncoordinated patterns of light.
Sounds that move as graceful figures
Simple symbols, nothing but scribbles.

Endorsed across these hollow lines
All you interpret are scribbles.

But these "scribbles" are her aim
Her far aspiration; everyday devotion.

Do you not see the avidity, when she takes creation?
Are you that ignorant towards these "scribbles"?

DEAR, THIS IS SOMETHING BEYOND THAT!
You see, words are a weapon against those you resemble.
You see, this ink is her weapon, and how she adores it.
You'll be aghast! When her passion, her "scribbles"
Prevail.