Graveyard Girl

She is silent, pained, almost dead inside,

A forced smile on her thin, pale-rose lips,

Her white-blond hair in rat's-tails from the rain,

Her skin is like alabaster, pale and hard,

Her eyes reflect shadows with their grey surfaces,

Flowers were her passion,

The silky petals and leaves,

Now she's around them all the time,

The beauty has become eerie and miserable,

She grips the bars of the silver gate,

Stares out,

As if she's permanently behind a pane of glass,

The gravestone is her pillow,

The flowers are her bed,

This silent young suicidal just wants to be dead.

The End

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