She always smiled, and finally had cried,
She got tired of all those people who lied;
Her eyes, no longer bright and wide,
This is a story about a girl who died.
She cut her wrist and watched it drip,
With blood so red, as the color of her lip;
She took the chance, not letting it slip,
She added more to the wrist she had slit.
It wasn’t enough, so she tied a noose,
Making sure it was secure, not loose;
She grabbed a chair and took off her shoes,
There she stood, covered in bruise.
She never found ways,
To die, without a trace;
But the thought of finally dying, made her heart race,
She then pushed the chair, with a smile on her face.
