Poor little rich girl

Exhausted from stalking her elusive Ghost

Exhausted by this surreal and tiresome life

Exhausted by the suffocating lonesome existence

Being Surrounded by

People who insist she is mentally ill

People who pretend she is mentally ill

Denied her birthright

Denied her precious toys

Denied her sanity

No way to find her Protector

No way to swim in her money

No way to tell the true story

She sees no hope in the rising Sun

She sees no peace in the rising moon

She sees no faith in the starry night

She finds company in isolation

She finds safety in the far corners of the unknown

She finds solace in aimless wandering

What is the point of

Having so much when

Having so little

What is the point of eloquence

Not a living soul to talk to

What is the point of it all

Darkness, despair and desolation converge

As if to reinforce an ancient curse

That stripped the wind beneath her clipped wings

Thunderstorms in the ears drown the choir of angels

Poisonous fumes expels the subtle scent of grass

Sweet caramel turns sour in its lingering aftertaste

What is the point of it all

A golden girl born of chameleons

A heart forever seeking safe harbour