Literature
.Its.Over.
She cuts through that pure white skin
Doesn't she know that she won't win?
"I want to be her" she chants
But we all know that she can't.
She closes the door without sound, she stops and listens to the rain through the trees
She quickly sinks to her knees.
"Help me.." she cries
"Please, I can't take it, I'd rather di-"
What a beauty she was, what she could have become
We'll never know now because she has gone..
She lies on the floor, alone in her room
Wrists bleeding, on the radio plays her favorite tune.
Like a flower she would have bloomed
Instead she rests inside her tomb..
She would have been popular, pretty and sweet
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