She lays alone in her high tower castle,
playing pass the parcel by herself, lonesome-
she groans for help, but it never seems to arrive.
Her eyes are fuelled with desire for company-
plagued by puppetry, the puppeteer-
steers her every action, every breath of air taken
is monitored.
She once spent days brushing her silky hair,
known that life was fair and just but time changes-
as a pendulum continues to swing and sway.
The nights played like a recorded noise,
no choice but to stay awake as the beep continues
and the tribute made in honour of her grew larger.
In the multistorey hospital where laid her brush,
the cuts and bruises came to be fixed with care,
but her hair grew thinner and shorter day by day.
In her hospital bed, where she laid asleep-
with ambient beeps, she no longer lays there
as she takes her lonesome stare into the light.
