By the looks of your jumbled sticky hair
Those deep dark eyes that breaks no stare
One can never tell your mystifying story
Of how you reached this point of wry glory..

You sit in one corner, talking to yourself
Lost in discussion about all your beliefs
Fiddling your fingers as if counting the days
It seems to me you are in a haze..

Smiling and laughing at nothing in particular
Then I heard you say, ‘you’re such a fine star’
I searched your cell to see who it was
But all I see were just dirty dolls piled up in a mess

Finding a little of you in me was a shock
It clarifies what I have and what I lack
Tagged as the ‘mad woman’ you are
Little did I know, I need not go that far..