Skitzo Sketch

*she's lucky*

She's been singing everyone's favorite song for far too long.
Her voice shatters like glass and the shards go flying,
they scar her skin and blood runs in rivulets down her wrists.
Goddamn she's lucky she was a poet.
They'll put her last composition on the news, on their blogs,
scatter those last lines until they mean nothing.
Goddamn she's lucky she was beautiful.

Her picture is plastered on every wall,
flickering in the glow of candlelight vigils,
her name's finally in lights.
She's the only one not here to see it, of course, but no one else seems to notice.
Goddamn she's lucky she was.
She's lucky we loved her like this.
She's lucky we don't know what to do without her.
She's lucky we never told her,
or we never would've realized ourselves.