The quiet one, who sits by herself,
The silent soul that seeks no help.
The one you look at,
but never really see,
The heart that swallows the world it meets.
The child inside, that sees the grief,
The hands that write the silent pain,
The mind that observes the loss and gain.
The revelations she keeps to herself,
The one you may go to, when your living in hell.
To keep your secret with her silence, is her spell.
