She was a little girl.
With ribbons round her wrists,
Fingers bent and tapered thin,
From constant, bruising fists.
She'd never understood it.
No love was ever shown,
No compliments on shiny hair
Or just how tall she'd grown.
She'd been a constant shadow.
In the corner of the stage,
Everyone on chapter four,
Yet she stuck on one page.
No one thought to help her.
Instead she suffered, still,
Putting on a calm facade,
Whilst waiting for that pill.
Every night she'd take one.
And every night, come back,
She knew if she just disappeared,
The world? It wouldn't lack.
She wished she could be different.
That someone understood.
Beyond that small glass surface was
A girl who knew all good.
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