Her

Black and white never suited her.

Analysis so cold, so calculating...
can't possibly comprehend,
the deeper thunderstorms...
raging on in a human being.

For the caliber of life's irony
begs everyone to question "normal."

Quantified by icy eyes,
it leaves us and them.
Those lacking, those better,
those best...
Till it leaves all of us,

doesn't it.

So don't try to reach her...
dont come preaching
some contemptible "cure."
Dont you dare...

Dont pretend anything more,
is happening here.
Dont complicate this
simple transaction...

Her body laid bare to you
and your soul laid bare to her.
Each breaking the other,
view by view.

For she will not yield.

With an analytic prowess,
shameful for her to wield,
her storms will find your chest.

Sterile incision after incision,
all the truths, doubts, crippling fears,
pushing her into that wall,
will turn on you...
with fire, tears, and
tortuous precision.

For though this world doesn't suit her,
she will no longer be cornered by it.