Red were the roses, the ones I left on your casket,
Orange were the leaves, the ones in your tree,
Yellow were the bruises, the ones that covered you head-to-toe,
Green were the stains, the ones left on the hems of your jeans,
Blue were your lips, the day you were found in your noose,
Indigo was the night sky, that night that you died,
Violet was that bruise, the one you wore around your neck

The free box lies in the
Corner of the garage,
Where the crickets and the
Spiders and the raccoons live,
And the doll is slouched in the corner,
With more dirt on her than the garage floor.
Her hair is without color,
Her eyes without life,
As she stares up at the innocent
Garage salers who rarely give her a
Second glance.
She’s in the free box;
Why would anyone bother?
She’s been abused and neglected,
Despised and rejected,
And she’s finally done with it all.
She’s in the free box;
Why would anyone bother?