Broken

Br-ok-en.

Broken.

There goes the golden girl,

perfect girl,

she's so cool

and I just LOVE her dress.

But did you know that she's

B-r-o-k-e-n.

You didn't?

G-o-s-s-i-p

follows me everywhere.

Everywhere I turn,

everywhere I look,

it HAUNTS me.

S-u-r-r-o-u-n-d-s me.

B-r-o-k-e-n.

That's what I am.

That's what they call me, anyway.

Soundlessly my friends (not really)

pass as if I am

m-a-d.

But I know that's not true.

What? It's not.

After all, why would I be?

She's alive.

They all say she's dead.

I hear them.

But it's not true.

Of course it's not!

They just want to try and trick me

into believing their lies.

She's not dead.

D-e-a-t-h.

Funny word, isn't it?

So close for many, yet for others so

f-a-r.

She's not.

She can't be.

Dead, I mean.

Can she?

Good, or nah?

-Z xx