She laughs, she smiles,

As she lays her hand on her little black book,

Its so cliché that she loves it,

Can't get enough of it,

As she mocks the names of ex-lovers

Crossed out.

There are little stars on the back of her hands,

Traced with a pen that cut them to deep,

Making her bleed black ink blood,

Because she is just so weak,

Quick! Everyone pity the weak little girl.

Find a place to fit in,

Find a way to tell the world the truth,

Of things they can't (refuse) to see

Make them understand what it is to live in the shadows,

Of ever looming death.

So dissect all her flaws,

And keep wishing to never be a lone,

Runaway and take a chance,

The roads you take well bind you or set you free.

Be free.