She is a living soul with her shiny eyes unlike her clothes. She likes to merge things until she gets confused of her own mess. Some days she loves even the shit of the streetdogs yet other days she may even make people cry.
She as all other s/he-s likes to talk about itself. She thinks that some minds with not enough heart don't deserve his songs, him is special. She's for most of the time is stupid to the bone but her silence & eyes cover her up.
She likes to play with things people wouldn't care of thinking. She lives not within but with dreams. She likes to hear the tiny sound when the tiny, hard, yellowish snow which she digs from her greasy head crashes to the page.
She throws it at the very first place just to come across it within the lines of the page.
She wanders around these days. She cannot decide whether she's been through a lot or hasn't even seen a bit.
Well, if you ask me, it doesn't matter at all 'cuz she will anyway.