There is a whirlwind of chaos inside her
An entropy, a madness, a little emptiness
That ceases her sanity from within.
The mania, the frenzy, the wilderness
All a part of her nugatory existence.
The deadening disarray enchaining her minds
Building a claustrophobia
Which you may never succeed to define.
The restlessness, the anxiety, the neurosis
All a part of her woebegone reality.
She is imprisoned betwixt the chain and its steely embrace,
She resides inside the merciless bolt and clasp,
And yet she has the zeal to envisage dreams,
To live in a reverie, a trance, a ravishing fantasy,
Her weening tenacity terrorizing her pandemonium to feebly vamoose.