The little girl is dying,

Sickened by her nightmares,

Watching… waiting… hoping,

That someone will hear her prayers.

She drifts through life, unconscious,

Not knowing what will be,

Dreaming about tomorrow,

When death she hopes she’ll see.

Her emotional wounds are endless,

Her physical ones are deep,

But by dancing with the razor,

She can caress herself to sleep.

Crying as she thinks,

Knowing that no one cares,

Bandaging… kissing… nursing,

The evil cuts she bears.

Her family does not love her,

She’s a traitor in their eyes,

A small and senseless demon,

Who’s plagued their lives with lies.

She slips through life with a smile,

But her happiness is vain,

Her transparent expression,

Only accentuates the pain.

The only one who loves her,

Hides behind a wall,

Troubled by the same horrors,

Shrouded in death’s shawl.

The little girl is whispering,

To the winter sky,

“Dear God, I’ve been a good girl,

So go and let me die.”

Days turn into months,

And things start to turn around,

So now the girl no longer,

Lays sobbing on the ground.

But what no one seems to know,

And what deeply frightens me,

Is that the little girl who almost died,

Was who I used to be.