A poem by Nova

She takes the key

 But she still breaks the lock,

 Oh the times changing fast,

 Will it ever stop?

 They might be partners, but she’s a loner in her heart

 Sitting at a table with coffee and her thoughts

She didn't expect this, why did it ever come,

 Such a troubled soul under the vibrant sun,

She's dyes her hair and bites her lips,

She walks steady yet somehow she trips,

 And so the bird flies as she sinks in soil,

 She’s the victim of the full moon midnight torture

In a full room with shallow talk and laughter is one of the world's greatest disasters,

 She feels misunderstood, even remarked by her journal's quietness

 As her pen's tip plasters a life story on her sheets,

 Yet somehow somewhere she's secretly looking for someone's critique.

 Negative or good, she doesn't care; in fact she wishes she wasn't there.

 There is no good versus evil in her mind,

 Only a conscience that re-examines all her crimes,

 As the flaws creep in, and the confidence disappears,

 She produces tough skin instead of tears

 Her innocence weeps away on the day of each decay

As her angry visions enlighten the bad,

 She doesn't even see the world in black or white,

 But in fright of day verses night

 She wishes she could get more out of life,

but her lack of energy isn't giving up a fight

Her happiness was gone when she started pursuing it.