"There was this girl...
We all knew her as "the girl with the pink shoes"
She didn't talk much
But she always looked somewhat happy
I remember I tried to talk to her once...
I said 'hi'
All she did was continue writing in her notebook
She smiled when I continued talking and introduced myself
I told her my name and asked for hers
Again she didn't respond...
There was this girl with pink shoes
She didn't talk much just wrote
She came to me in the hall the next day
Her head was low and her voice was lower
She said her name was Sarah
She smiled
Sarah asked if I was her friend....
There was a girl whose name only I knew
The girl with the pink shoes was my friend
She looked somewhat happy and only spoke to me
I sat beside her in every class
It's now I noticed how her eyes resembled glass
Sarah had said her favourite colour was red
A very deep shade of it
There was this girl who asked to stay with me
I told her it was okay
Never did I think to ask why
She came over with a duffle bag heavier than herself
She had said her parents were "out of town"
Didn't seem too weird
There was this girl with glass eyes
After seven days she didn't go home
Mum let her stay with us for the time being
She only returned home once
So she could fetch her notebooks
And keep them at my house
Every single one was full of writing
There was this girl who came from a broken home
A whore of a father and a drunken mother
She couldn't speak to her parents
They wouldn't care
Mummy and Daddy would rather beat her up
The broken cant fixed the broken
She thought she had to bottle things up
Never told me anything
I hardly knew her...
And now all I can do is wish I could've helped her...
There was this girl whose shoes were drenched in crimson
Who's skin was pallid
And who's eye were fogged and glazed over
Her last words were not spoken
But found amongst the pages of a journal
Scrabbled she cursed her family and the world
Scribbled she wrote her apologies to me
Her sorrow reveled by a piece of paper...
Her wounds marked down as only a memory
There was a girl
Buried at fifteen
Who never really lived
Her life was spent surviving rather than living
The last I saw her wasn't the happiest moment
It was spent wearing black
With tear streaked cheeks
An open casket reveling her body
Blonde; stained red hair
Final act stitched on her wrist
A forgotten girl
A soul only I mourned
A friend whom I have lost
There once was this girl named Sarah
Who used to wear pink shoes...."
