Heart as hollow as a beggars soul,
Face so still as if carved from stone.
Small, fragile hands that grasp your fate,
Hold strong to a weapon of hurt and hate.
No one knows her story,
No one knows her name,
Her power is in her silence, deep within her pain.
Her life is a mystery,
Death to her a game,
The darkness that cloaks her,
also hides her undeniable ways.
If she comes for you,
You will realize,
The way to escape her,
You will never find.
The many she has hunted,
And at her hand have died,
No one has ever noticed,
Or cared enough to see,
That beneath her black exterior,
Sits a child,
Breakable, fragile, with a heart of need.
