Look at her,

a voice trails threw

the silver halls of hate.

A pretty ken doll stands

in her way to freedom.

Rage appears at the end

of her arms,

fallowed by the secret

streaming water,

found in her forest

Green windows

that attache

the world to her mind.

The ugliness that ensued

became beauty and rhythm.

Poetry in red, black and blue.

Look at him,

a voice trails threw

the silent whispering halls.

A rag doll stands over him.

A mole kissing the ground.