I emptied my entire being into your soul
hoping to fill a part of you long left barren

I watered your mind with my tears
hoping to grow a garden

Yet when spring came along
and the flowers had bloomed
and your soul had blossomed

I was left
nothing more
than forgotten

A pure treasure since she was born,
Deserving to be delicately placed on velveteen pillows.
Looks like that are lusted after
Like line after line of ******* in an upscale bathroom.
But all the pretty girls are like that.

Their red lipstick and lacy lingerie,
Cocktail dresses and long legs.
Swift movements and carefully crafted bones.
They feel their beauty really sink in with a needle full of ******,
and a high that knocks them off their perfectly pedicured feet.
My God, they are so lucky.

All the pretty girls do drugs.
And all the pretty girls get high.
All the pretty girls smile and wave in their size zero glory.

She was the kind of beauty that was not to be heavily applied and caked,
She was the kind that rolled over in untucked sheets the next morning with a slight glimmer in her eye, and a rosy tint to her cheeks.
The kind with long eyelashes, and a wardrobe full of cotton striped tee shirts.
She was gentle, sweet, and told ***** jokes on car rides home.
She was the kind of beauty you find in low budget indie films,
The kind that warms the pit of your stomach when she walks in a room,
The kind that didn't strike twice.