The pain is easy to see,
Etched across her skin,
She stands in a sea of moving graves,
Her never ending scowl,
Leers in the minds of her ghosts,
Her pain is easy to see,
Yet no one notices,
No one understands,
She sits in a corner,
Blood running down her arms,
To fall in a puddle all around her feet,
No one seems to see it,
Or maybe no one cares,
No one see's the pain,
Etched so clearly in her skin,
They pass her by like she's a statue in a park,
And with an Angel wing's,
She fly's away,
Now they care and now they see,
That the pain she etched so deep into her skin,
Was more than she could take,
They all cared just a little too late,
And with an Angel's wings,
She flies above,
Leaving only a note,
In a puddle of blood
© Copyright 2016 poet 3. All rights reserved.
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