Her skin is still red, where she burned herself.
Her arms are still blue, where she beat herself.
While they were in denial she killed herself.
Her skin is still slit where she cut herself.
She always felt like she abused him, and he always said no.
His face is brused where she hit him, he said it didn't hurt at all.
It made her want to die, dressed all in blood stained grey.
He's mine now and forever, she said, if she died this way.
He died two months before her, She never said good-bye.
Like most trajic things about her, dramatic is how she died.
And don't say she was selfish, and don't say she was sly.
Because this one was her true love, in the end, it's how she was born to die.
When she viseted his grave, she slept there, over night a new moon.
Her wish was to be with him, her prayer was anwsered, none to soon.