My lips are bruised, tainted by your lust,
Lost in the moment of primal instinct;
Never wanted it to turn to dust,
Your lips left mine too soon,
Tearing up my heart and my clothes,
Under the light of the moon.
Howling at a million stars,
The young girl cries again;
Glaring at the passing cars
with her tear-stained cheek,
Standing tall, breaking apart,
Refusing to look that weak.
Refusing to believe that she,
was another toy on the shelf;
With her monster holding the key.
The mouth with the innocent jokes,
Now became as vile as the gutter,
Delivering pleasure, she starts to choke.
A black rose starts to grow,
Forcing its' thorns out from her throat
No one could hear her death throe.
Paralysed she takes a step,
Stumbling in to a pit that
swallowing with it her pep.
Her walks turned listless,
Attention now makes her skin crawl,
Like her monsters in the dimness.
Her secrets chased her down the street,
Into the arms of more trouble; whom
with open arms she seemed to greet.
She is now another toy on the shelf,
Staring at those pretty monsters;
She has no one but herself;
To blame for losing the keys
She had treasured for so long.
She topples from the gentlest of breeze,
Her porcelain skin cracked and frayed,
The young girl cries again
As the rest of the world laughed and brayed.
