She stands empty handed on the day of love.

Coldly bitter at the mocking laughter of joy.

So crushed because no one loves her, nor ever will.

She is unnoticed, that she has become invisible.

She walks along the path of life,

A solitary figure;


She is jostled amongst the busy people.

Unnaturally insignificant, a fly on the wall.

So unloved that she is left demolished to the untrained eye.

Totally alone, she is forced to create her own allies,

Through the art of her colourful imagination;

These are her true friends.

Even death is lonely affair.

She will attempt to take her life in a sespit of misery.

Death will swallow her in its cold embrace.

No one will know and not a soul will care.

A snuffed flame of what once was,

A brilliantly coloured candle.

She will no longer exist in our world;

But in her own eyes,

Did she ever really exist?