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Description
Harlequin is how the world knows her,
The plaything of the twisted psyche,
Fucked up is an understatement,
She prefers the term "dreamer".

Forever musing, never resting,
Never accepting, but always questioning,
Curiosity kills so she's been told,
But she smiles sweetly at Death, like an old friend.

Crisp winter air creeps through the window,
She leans out, intoxicated,
Sighing out smoke in exchange for winter's breath,
Always pondering, chasing answers that fiendishly elude her,
And the rest of humankind.

Hardly a saint, but not heartless either,
Harley's known love, though she suspects an illusion,
The liars adore her, maybe too much.
She closes her eyes and braces herself for the landing.

The faded scars tell her story,
But she pays them no heed,
It's all just a dream.
She continues to smile.

The dreamer.
The lover.
The doubter.
The artist.
The world's very own Harlequin.

Description
Harlequin is how the world knows her,
The plaything of the twisted psyche,
Fucked up is an understatement,
She prefers the term "dreamer".

Forever musing, never resting,
Never accepting, but always questioning,
Curiosity kills so she's been told,
But she smiles sweetly at Death, like an old friend.

Crisp winter air creeps through the window,
She leans out, intoxicated,
Sighing out smoke in exchange for winter's breath,
Always pondering, chasing answers that fiendishly elude her,
And the rest of humankind.

Hardly a saint, but not heartless either,
Harley's known love, though she suspects an illusion,
The liars adore her, maybe too much.
She closes her eyes and braces herself for the landing.

The faded scars tell her story,
But she pays them no heed,
It's all just a dream.
She continues to smile.

The dreamer.
The lover.
The doubter.
The artist.
The world's very own Harlequin.