She is a spineless mess

sprawled along the floor.

She shields herself away

from the world,

pencil in hand.

Her hand shakes, moving frantically

along the faded lines of the paper.

She looks through eyes of black,

darkness swirls beneath her face.

Music keeps her sane.

She can converge with it,

as the rising tempo parallels

the stream of thoughts

flowing out of her head

and welding to her skin.

She is a walking catastrophe,

repelling human touch,

as the words of her story

are susceptibly etched

for humanity to see.