Not much observation is required
To recognise that the only thing epic about her is her sadness
Which she wears well
Like a snug cardigan
Severe disregard for life varied with an intense desire to thrive not just survive
A tragic paradox

Her repetitive nature is aggravating
All who have listened have, absorbedly
Offered advice which she blatantly declined to take
The saga is getting old and tiresome
They tell her to see the light, curse the dark, and the shadows that  hover over her
They expect their words to make all the difference
And she would skip away with a smile and new found appreciation for life and all it has to offer

Riddled with guilt
She feels accountable for the pain inflicted on others by her actions
Harbouring the guilt that eats and never dies
Forever harbouring the guilt

A desperate "poet"
Finding tranquility from linking words
To form sentences, a poem
To express and create some form of art
Seeking ecstasy
Through purging of emotions

A confused little girl
Who is not so little anymore
The years are violently adding up
Though young
The sand through the hour glass is running out
Growth of the self stunted by sickness of the mind
Ricocheting from the remainder of classic teen-angst to the inevitable adult crash

All of the achievements
Do not mean anything if she cannot feel it
Looking at pictures that hang above the fire place
Her teeth indicate she is smiling
Her eyes do not
Vacant
She is not really here
She could be anywhere