She says

Because that is what she strives for

The understanding of being content

Is beyond her grasp

Always room for improvement

Being taught that flaws are wrong

Her pale human skin should be torn

Off her fragile body

For it will always have that single


Fingertips bloody from the

Persecution of the imperfections

She puts her heart into

Yet everything she does

Isn't enough

For her inadequate addiction

Smeared ink on the tiny paper cuts

Allow blood to flow from her hands

Staining her lovely white sheet

With a melancholy tinge

Of pain and transgression