Lana

About a girl.

"Lana!"

I found her there; cold. Somewhere far and unfamiliar but usual to her.
Unsure what her purpose was, assumptions made were inconclusive. She was hollow.


Hollow like a boat with no passengers floating on a sea of corpses.
Bright enough to draw out darkness, justifying the complex contrast of human emotions.
She was different but so much like us.
So much...so hollow.
And she sat somewhere convinced she lived a doom life,
Where rain was everyday but droughts still occured,
The clouds always waved but her lips never smirked,
Why, it was a sadness.
Only question is why? Why was she hollow?

Is it the fabrication of her reality? A state of nature where only hell exist,
A reason for living was found by the lake,
But she never visited Michigan.
She was raised by a promiscuous mother, dad was a known drunk,
House like a forest where evil only hunts.
School ran on reputation and whose to say here was bad,
Her friends loved her dearly, and was conflicted as to why she was sad,
But maybe they didn't understand her.
Maybe, they are hollow.


Out there, Lana lived. Lived with no restrictions, yet she lived as she please.
Cold and speechless.