There is an unwavering smile on her face,
painted with undertones of anger;
There is tenderness carried in her fingertips,
with an unmistakable violence brewing underneath;
Her face is etched with lines of blinding mirth,
and it it clear that she is unfamiliar with laughter;
She is a walking tragedy, miserable and dead,
meticulously dressed in robes of normalcy;
Turn too quickly, and dare to steal a glance at those eyes -
All you will know is shadow, no life left to see.