"Love me," she whispers.
"Love me," louder as she grabs at them.
"Love me," she cries.
Again and again, night after night.
Hit after hit, high after high.
Tear after tear and guy after guy.
Never once satisfied.
Sitting home alone, she cries.

Easy to judge her.
"No one will love her."
Bitter words from hateful mouths.
Oh so needy, "please just love me"
All she cries as you lay her down.

No love for that girl.
Give her a quick whirl,
Then we pass her to the next.
She hates everyone, mad at the world.
Wanders around with her head so vex.

Hard to understand her,
Easy to demand her,
"Do this! Do that!"
As she will.

Everyone watches and waits for the time bomb, everyone wants to see her fail. She's something to look at and something to speak of, without her, where is the thrill?

But what people don't notice, what they don't realize, is that she's hurting behind the pills.

Those cries aren't pleasure, they are pain. She's looking for something that drives her insane.

Searching for love in such a wrong place and can't even see it when it's in her face. It's never a search, really more of a chase. You can tell she's the girl when she's in that place.

The cries aren't from passion.
They are from confusion, but she'll make you ignore it, call it illusion.

She is that girl that no man understands, the girl who is fragile and always in wrong hands. The needy girl always searching for love, hoping that someone is hearing above.

She's sick and twisted and at other times sane, she bottles her pain as she hears them say her name. Never good news, but it's part of the fame. We all know this girl will always hang her head in shame.

Everyone has baggage, but this girl's is quite a lot.
People open her bags up and run once they see what she's got.

But I know this girl when I give it some thought,
we treat her so nasty and do it a lot. We aren't helping her, because it's nobody's problem. Someone has something we want, then we rob them. You have got to latch on to what you want in this life, whether it is wrong, or if it is right.

Remember that girl, by the end of the night. She won't make a fuss, she won't try to fight. She'll just keep moaning "love me" But really, who cares? You can see when you touch her she's not really there.

This story is troubling and very much true, but this girl is me.
What if she was you?

*kd