Of Her parents home
with blood gushing from her wrists
clothes that look like they've been through the shredder
bleeding mascara and the deepest holes for eyes
for once they'll crowd her, worried,
and ask,
"Who or, o-or what di-d-did this to you...?"
Her Mother will stutter through confusion
And the girl will reply with,
"It was me."
Empty and cold, She'll stand bleeding
Her mother will whimper and her father
is never anywhere to be seen.