I want to tell a story of a young girl
But with every attempt words failed me,

My ink siezed and my pages seem dried.
But a bit Of conniption driven passion I was compelled to pen the clayed lady.

A lady made of Steel, so she isn’t
But whose unshed tears are pregnant of pains, disappointment,

Behind every smile of hers is a fragile heart,falling apart slowly.

Her fragile soul tries not to break down, But her emotions with great restrain clamp her sadist ego.

Every happy corner of her life are against her,
She’s drowned in her little life of disappointment and pains masked with a smile.

Will her smile every be real, that’s a story for tomorrow.
Are you willing to make her smile real?


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