Shy is the one in which I know not much,
Blonde and blue and a fragile heart and such.
A frown upon herself around the world,
Within a crowd of friends her heart lies swirled,
Feeling security to those she doth trust,
Her heart was broken; a display so unjust.
Torn apart and left to cry,
Fed up and hurt by love; just another lie.
Silently walking down the street,
Pushing away many she doth meet,
Only her friends she doth greet.
Love lost; torn apart,
Crying but still standing; the broken heart.
