She had eyes the color of stone.
Her hair reflected the sun.
All the warmth in the world, it couldn’t keep her warm.
She had kissed the devil himself.
She held the liquor on the top shelf,
So she’d have something to work for before she drank herself to death.
It’s girls like her, who beg on the inside.
Their cries are loud, just not quite loud enough.
They surround themselves with darkness and despair.
They have no one to hold up their hair in the dark of the night.
So they cry alone, alone after midnight.