Her thoughts were locked up tight in her mind
for fear that someone might manipulate them.

Her words spilled out of her soul like morning coffee
and they burned your mouth when you took them in.

Her eyes hid the monsters living inside her.
They looked straight through you, as if you were transparent.

She was an empty shell, her soul had left her long ago.
Time was cruel to her, making her walk on this Earth with no purpose.

And you were her medicine. You were her cure. You were her only hope.
But not every story has a happy ending. The flowers have wilted at her grave.