I know the way you held the tears in,
How they swam like an ocean in your eyes,
But still you would not let them fall,
Didn't want anyone to see you cry.

And I know now why you kept such a straight face,
You told me one night when we were drunk.
You said that people look ugly when they cry,
And that you didn't want to ruin your make-up.

But your face wasn't all that crumpled on that cold December night,
No, you went flying through the wind shield,
there was no beauty, no dignity in that lost fight,
On the night that you were killed.


And I wish I could say that they miss you now,
But truth is you're just another pretty face,
Forgotten almost as soon as you hit the ground,
Almost a week from that cold December day.

So I'll write another poem about your vanity,
The price you paid to keep your pain in,
But I cannot write about beauty you see,
Because the line between beauty and tragedy,
Is only paper thin...