That it doesn't matter.
That was her reply.
You help she does not
desires.
You may just resign.

For this is her story.
Her story in disguise

The girl who races.
Born in may.
Her paper faces
on display.
Behind a thousand
closed doors.
Just like her broken
racked dolls.
Where she lies
paralyzed.

If you'd look closer
And maybe you'd see.
The girl who paces.
Born in may.
Her paper faces.
She leads astray.
And there she
caresses
her lovely array
of paper faces.
Her only defenses.
Shielding her from
the shades of grey.