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Her eyes are like a never ending abyss
Her very soul never gone into amiss.
She longs for quiet, no shouts.
She is like the dark, there is no way out.
All she does is sit in her room
Waiting for the faithful day of doom
She taps her slender fingers on the glass,
A sound that shatters everything, even for the lass
The sound of the emptiness in her heart
Is the faint distinct THUMP, no work of art
Her skin of white, her thin hair hiding her stare
Makes light cower every time they receive her glare.
She gazes with a sort of empty look
Then it quickly disappears, hidden in a book.