Sickly creature found
clawing up the rocks
with hell below,
there isn't a sound.

She is a girl,
but resembles a ghoul.

How sad it is
that she couldn't smile,
she never found living worthwhile.

You-
as a human being,
have morality to make her feel loved
even if you never meant it.
You- as a human being,
benevolently take advantage of vulnerability
and see it as doing a favor.

You're the patron saint,
savior for suicidal girls everywhere.

Her frame looked beautiful stretched out,
skin was the perfect canvas
to plant unmeant kisses,
matching the color of her underwear
you'd never see.

The bones fashioned into a bed
you lay in,
again, it isn't a sin
when she's barely breathing.

Seething with melancholy,
tasting the despair on pouted lips.
You had *** with her misery,
and ****** when she had unmoving hips;
Saw the lines up and down her thighs
so he cuts the ****-
and became a decent person by “loving”
a girl who didn't believe she could be.




Just the distance between a ceiling fan
and chair held her back,
from being free.

She’ll make up another one like you,
or assume the worst of everyone for the rest of
the days she decides to see.
Rests in her own bed
re-living the grip of your hands
reaching for her pants

She’ll bare a toothy grin in your direction,
make a joke about suicide or hoping to be dead
and you'll never know what to say-
just that you can find blame in everything,
but what's inside her head

But even with you there-
she's always alone.


No need to be held and caressed
as if it will subdue the demons that rest inside,
or that she'll wake up the next day no longer depressed.

Put that sad music to rest,
dressing her sorrow in lace,
paints her face,
and collapses farthest from grace.