Her tears are cold from the wind.
Her blood is warm, fresh from within.
She cries for him.
She weeps but he never sees.
Her sobs, they could tear you apart
Just like her heart.
She bleeds her favorite color
And sings herself to sleep like her own mother.
Her waist gets thinner
As she skips dinner.
Cuts are future scars to admire.
Burns are made by the beautiful fire.
Shove your fingers down your throat,
Write that suicide note,
Reread your favorite depression quote,
Watch that dead girl's body float,
Wish to be in her moat.
She's depressed but so are we.
Call for her and you'll see,
She is me.
