Darkness surrounded her, day and night.

Insidious, alluring, luminescent flowers floating here and there, 

Offering counterfeit promises of peace. 

Sickingly sweet voices called out to her, 

Filling her mind with destructive lies.

Possible escape from that lonely abyss seemed a hopeless fight.

And for years her terror reigned over her mind. 

Her iced-over heart was filled by disgusting lies.

Self-hatred bloomed from her chest, 

Each time she spoke, each time she laughed.

Each time she looked into the mirror, she felt it would crack.

But salvation was snaking its way into her life.

The music box in her head stopped, suddenly, 

No longer was it playing the quiet death song, 

That had animated her darkness for far too long. 

She let words of fiction fill her head,

And take her away from this world, 

Though only briefly.

She was walking down a dreary hallway.

Her fears footsteps echoing in a perfect chaotic symphony with her own. 

She watched her older sister,

Ill for far too long,

Run to pen and paper,

To escape her own wretched realities. 

She continued using the beautiful works of others,

To run away for short times. 

Until, one day,

Silently, she set down those books, 

And gingerly walked down a broken, frozen path, 

To find a dusty writing desk,

In need of some repair,

Since it had been left untouched, unused,

Ever since its creation. 

She tended to wounds, left untreated far too long.

Until she found her faucet, 

And, along with her tears, 

The horror, fear and dread inside,

Spilled onto the blank pages before her.

Imagery fueld by despair. 

Similar, in ways, to Poe's own torment.

And it certainly had just as doleful and melancholy an air. 

Yet she was also inspired by Nature.

Images of darkness mixed into those, 

Of forests and star-lit skies.

Like Sossamon, she too was in love, 

With the smoky mountains she calls home.

Thus her journey began. 

And the files of her heart,

Filled outside pages, 

With beautifully dark metaphors, 

Echoing the truths behind her mind numbing pain.

And yet another hopeful poet,

Was borne unto this world.