Make No Mistake, She Is Not Sane,
But Qualifies As Quite Mundane.
Upon Her Misery Falls Like Rain,
Her Life, An Open Book, Inane.
She Rollicked For A Time In Spain,
To Heal Her Heart, Which Was Quite Lame.
Imbibing Till She Was Quite Tame,
But Only To Return The Same.
She Relishes The Kind Of Pain
That Never Leaves, She Must Explain,
For To Choose Joy Over Her Disdain
Would Have You All On The Next Train.
So She Chooses To Remain Insane.
If You Relate To The Protagonist
In This Poem In Any Way, Have Some
Self Respect And Don’t Ever Admit It