she's in shambles. The rusted dirt she can't spray off. The thoughts she holds deep in side. This she is shamefully mistaken for. The woman with a pretty face but no good intent that will over look every detail of living life it's self too see no further then her self in a shadow. Forgotten the offering warmth of  kindness. Only her own intent she follows with a close Eye. At a turning point see must not waver. She let's go. Sweet  release from inner torment a growing avalanche of tears and heat over come her . She is not a woman of envy, she's seen darkness