Something of Eccentricity

Something of Eccentricity
Steal and die.

Her beauty is alien,
A dark gaze,
Shaped like cat eyes.
Face sleek and pointed,
The cheekbones are high -
She is neither gorgeous, beautiful, or pretty...

It is something of eccentricity.

The expressions
Dazzle her face,
Electrify those eyes.
They transform faster than anything I've witnessed -
Even the most violent of winds.

The pen illustrates a world entirely her own,
One she quite possibly lives in.
If they let her, she'd lounge on the grass
For hours,
Letting the water flood in and freeze.
This way, she is alone,
Consoled by those of imagination,
Friends so far from human,
So close to being alive.

Her words are thought-provoking,
And her thoughts unfathomable.
One may shadow her hunched-over figure
In hopes of understanding
What she truly is.

They will never know that as the pen
Bleeds into ebony scrawl,
She slips below the surface,
Hands beating stone,
Knuckles crashing into ice,
Feet flailing as they
Struggle to find the ground to
Take off.

She says her life's too boring,
But I wonder:
Is that what really lies beneath it all?