Poison

-I wrote this poem for a girl who never smiled.
Her name is Ivy, like the poison.-

Her skin was pale as the moon as if it never met the sun and the black clothes she wore created a contrast. She loved the night. She worshiped the black sun as she played her guitar and sang with her broken voice. She was sad but she was brilliant. If only she could see. How perfect her lips curved. How flawless her porcelain skin was. How her voice could make the world shake but she was far too sad, so instead she leaned over the sink and watched the blood flow out of her body.