Broken Harp
She was gorgeous,
Fun, tall, funny.
Anything one could want,
She had the quality.
She was loved,
At least her mask was.
It was hard to see the pain,
That her home caused.
She sang like a harp,
A living siren.
But something happening,
And she was dying.
Her neighbors heard the yells,
Her friends heard the screams,
Her father with a beer,
Or so it would seem.
When they got there,
She was already dead.
Her very own blood,
Stained the carpet red.
At the funeral,
They made her look sharp,
As gorgeous as life,
The broken harp.