Cold shadowed birth at the break of night, kept in the dark to steal the light.
Suppose a frigid heart hidden never knows something's wrong, something's broken.
Brought under the shadows and taught to learn. Kept in place just to be moved about, like a piece to someone's game.
Not that it's forced - this indoctrination's welcomed. Silently abided and curiously followed, these ways are the only known.
A malady never minded, never known, never thought. Leaving the heart frozen from care. Never protested.
A thousand lies, a thousand names. Always a secret to have, and to hold; to take, and to wield.
Hurt simply caught - a morbid curiosity. Something felt. It's regard never taken for granted, yet warded by instinct.
Dispassion the only thing that seems to lurk among such meticulous, branded motives. Marked by masters unto herself.
It's the truth behind the lies for which she strives. Slipping ever deeper behind... Falling ever farther into the darkness.
Anonymity a tool to become anything, and nothing. Unknown. The only uncertainty in whether the want to be known sometimes has worth.
Uncaring, and without soul. Without worth beyond herself - or so it's been said. Nothing to hold to beyond the dark.
So curious as to what it is they feel to bring such expression. It never seems to find it's way here. Why do they bother.