She meekly chased after
nonexistent moonbeams
in rose fashioned pipe
dreamt illusions,
as visual stimuli to
rock her existence
of inklings' stark impressions
inciting some exertion
in her bland universe,
she was ever so ordinarily dull
even her reflection in the
deepest sapphire seas,
appeared as drab dishwater
she lived in a world of her
own fabricated deception
still, she wondered why every
impaled consequence was an
arranged shade of washed-out gray