She sits alone, mostly. Rolling within the rank sweat and smog filled room she calls her "home"
Black and white, black on black, white on white. Crisp and clean, yet muddied with her emotional tolls
Gangly legs lay crissed and crossed into the apple sauce, folding in and bent at the knees
Her Raven hair is swept across the floor like a ***** mop left out to dry in the rotten sunshine (or so she calls it)
Portraying the swayed emotions that she feels like a long black river of gnat buzzing irritation
"Stupid." she whispers in a mocking tone, head cocked to the side with a face filled with blankness
"Stupid Pretenders," she mutters in a voice as soft as the whispering ghosts, lost within the sounds of the dead
Pretenders. That is what she calls them as they flit too and fro, ignorance and bliss surrounding the obvious facts
Floating in and out of her mind, she has memorized every single one of their faces, down to the last detail;
Every last acne scarred face that tormented her while she was a "just a child", they billow down into her mind
The blank and fish glossed eyes never truly seeing, staring blankly ahead of them while they passed by, oblivious
Like running brooks, and rays of light they ebb and intertwine into who she is (or who she thought she once was)
She enjoys pretending that she knows their stories, has lived their lives, all while she is glaring madly into lost space
Having been swept astray, she descends deeper between lulling calls of the dead, mourning in sweet song for her fruitless life
They plead with her to sacrifice her existence, escorting peace into her tattered soul, to terminate her withdrawn pain
Lending her the hand of the Black Rider who comes at dusk, singing a haunting lullaby to drag her down into the dawn