she died on the bathroom floor you know. 

a cut on her ribs. 

the rib borne from man, 

killed the girl on the bathroom floor. 

no one had kindness. no one had words of condolences. 

only four pictures and a note, 

only they proved someones love for her. 

the things that made her beautiful, 

an innocence lost, 

a bleach blonde tangle, 

and a vicious lover from a doomed story. 

she was a child, 

a sick, sickly little girl.

with too many slits of broken glass on her arms and heart. 

the love she gave was enough for one, 

so why not enough for all. 

they blame you for him, 

and him for the end,

therefor, making you the end. 

but you were a girl, 

a girl with shadows that followed in your footsteps.