Her innocence 
Was interrupted violently
Before she became fully
Blossomed 
Like a rose bud snatched 
Before it was bloomed 
Which forced her
To take refuge
Within her mind,
Leaving her to believe 
Every glance
And every stare
Is a snare
After her interrupted virtue,
Her world became
Her enemy,
Not even in her dreams
Could she escape
Unless she frequented 
The land of sweet sedation
She concealed what could have 
Been a beautiful fate,
And began her journey
Into the land 
Of the living dead,
Peeking out on occasion
To see if it was
Safe only to be robbed
Again,
Left feeling not one man
To be a friend 
To trust or thrust,
So she made the enemy
Her friend,
As she suited up in her
Glass armor to fight
Her everlasting battle
In the land of the
Living dead.