Thursday, 24 March 2011
10:53:02 PM (GMT)
WARNING;; MAY TRIGGER!
You said you liked the long haired girls, so I grew mine out.
But then you said you changed your mind, so I snipped it down.
You said you liked girls with red cheeks, so I learned to put it on.
But then you said you liked it natural, so now my blushed cheeks are gone.
You said you liked the girls who were dark, so I splurged on gore.
But then you said you like preppy girls, so now I have pon-poms to display on the
You said you liked the girls that wore bright clothes, so I splashed in on the
But then you told me that you hated pink shirts, so I never wear mine.
You said you liked the full figured girls, so I kinda ate too much.
But then you said you liked girls who were skinny, so even when I ate just enough it
would get thrown up.
You said I still wasn't what you wanted, but I knew I could be.
But still you said I wasn't the girl that you wanted to see
You said if I was gonna be your girl, I'd have to do something stupid, you should
have got it through your head.
Now the inner tub of white is gently covered red.
You said they found something in a this girl's bathroom, an apology on the mirror and
You said the girl wrote it in lipstick, bright red. The handwritting was pretty and
Everyone laughed and wore a smile.
They found fun in something so vile.
But then your voice cracked a bit, when you had to say,
the only girl you had really ever loved died yesterday.
No one laughed then, but still they thought it was a joke.
You coughed to clear your throat then slowly spoke.
You said the girl had wrote her apology before taking a lot of prescription pills.
You said you didn't know why but just guess love kills.
You told them all that she sat in her bathtub, with a small lighter and razorbladed
You said she burned herself multiple of times before she finally took her life.
You told them all when she was found her face was raw from crying,
words tossed about in your head, and your thoughts were flying.
The burns were on her left arm and they seemed to make to tell a story,
and if they did tell a tale I'm sure it wouldn't be boring.
You said it was really odd. Her parents were home but not a scream to be heard.
You said she had cuts on her right arm, which seemed to make a word.
Your friends gave you awful, disbeliving glares.
You turned your head and looked from all the stares.
You said her eyes held things, things that made you sorta fear her.
You said she must have had practice at this because no one seemed to hear her.
Then you jumped back on track and told them that there was a square.
She had sliced it into her right wrist, of this you were aware.
The boxed cut shut off her main veins and killed her flat.
You said you didn't really know much more, that was simply that.
One thing on everyone's mind was why, but secretly you knew.
The answer was all the pain you had put her through.
Someone asked what the words were.
You were crying now, colors were all just a blur.
You stuttered when you had to tell them knowing wasn't worth it.
You didn't want to tell because the words were "Now I'm finally perfect".