The inscrutable, immense pain,
The benumbed battles inside her head.
No one would ever know,
The agonising, tormented thoughts she fed.

Tripping over the mirage of happiness,
While her soul lying in the desert of pain.
She fought, she lost, she screamed and cried.
Only to have her efforts in vain.

Hands cold as ice, drippin' off blood,
Barred by her own thoughts as a prisoner.
Even tears wailed and screeched for salvation
From the deeply cluttered soul of hers.

She was broken, she was shattered,
Yet they called her a mess.
But she was the real warrior,
who now lies  peacefully on her death bed.