Sylvia hid in her room, poor lonely lass;
Staring out her window, watching the days pass.
Wrought with despair, burdened with gloom;
Day after day alone in her room.

All her self doubt turned inward and grew,
Knowing the insults she heard must be true.
Her parents critiqued every action she took
Until finally her only friends were her books.

Her skin became pale and her frame frail and thin;
No light to battle growing darkness within.
Her school grades were good, her parents were pleased;
But her classmates grew envious, and viciously teased.

Further and further from reality she drifted,
As her parents proudly proclaimed she was "gifted".
Then one day a virus swept through her town;
And few noticed Sylvia was no longer around.

Frail and weak, with no will to live,
Her body had little resistance to give.
She died alone in that sad little room,
Smothered in layers of despair and gloom.

Yet on dark cloudy days when the sun's but a trace;
Behind a velvet curtain lingers a wan face.
Still seeking the love and acceptance she craved;
Still yearning from dark despair to be saved.

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