She was a little girl
with star prints all over her
long wavy hair.

The words
tattooed all over her skin
were nonsense.

Her storybook was
the size of her roof.

The only thing
holding everything together
was her imagination.

The older she
got everything faded
or became tiny.

Star prints turned
to ashes in her gray hair.

Her storybook
was as tiny as
a piece of rice.

Everyone could
read the words
tattooed on her skin.

So everything
became way too hidden.

Yet imagination
was still somewhere
deep inside.

She just has to
fight all the aura of
the horror harder.