Everyday is Halloween,
she paints her face pale
as a ghost by a winter moon
and dresses dark like the night,
then goes about the day.

She stays up late into night
mesmerized in some underworld
reading Edgar Allen Poe,
as her guardian,
a cat she calls 'Crow'
watches over her.

She swears that he saved her life once
in a previous life.

She pierces her flesh
in mysterious places
with jewelry,
for thrill, for pain,
to shock herself out
of a cold numb dream.

She's an artist.

She paints pictures of black,
'cause on some deep
sub-conscious level
it reminds her of where she is from
and where she'll be going back.

She loves vampires
and blood.
She wishes she could be one.
One of the dead ones
that live forever.

For if Death would sit beside her
she'd gaze into Death's eyes
like a long lost friend.

If Death would be her lover
she'd savor every moment spent
as if it were eternity.

If Death would come inside her
she could know real peace.

And if Death landed on her shoulder
like a mosquito...

she'd squash it dead.

She's a gothic child...

You gotta love her soul.