The girl who dresssed in black,
Her hair not even pulled back,
This curtain hid her emotions,
From all the scaring, painful commotion,
Like a weed in a rose bed,
Tall, unpleasent and covered in red,
Locking herself in the highest tower she could,
Bolting up the door with wood,
Hiding in the tower of lies,
She starts to wilt and slowly die.

The girl who dressed in black,
Her hair not even pulled back,
Looked up at the sky,
Wanting to just curl up and die,
Two dull and lifeless eyes,
Wishing to live in the sky,
With the angels and the harks,
She was just so sick of the dark.

The girl who dressed in balck,
Her hair not even pulled back,
Then a painful rush of adrenailine,
Glass sticking into her skin like clothing pins,
Her hair was swooshed back,
she felt as if she would have a heart attack,
Then a sickening crack,
It had surely come from her back,
And there she layed in the rose bed,
Covered in red.