Too Late

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This isn't suicide,
This is murder,
Don't try acting snide,
You didn't know her.

She died,
At the hands of her imagination,
You cried,
For a "faceless abomination".

Her face a blank expression,
Not even words can express how she feels,
Societies words are an installation,
Her mind- making them run like wheels.

"There's nothing I could've done",
But that's wrong in so many ways,
You were the one with the gun,
You were the one with the craze.

You made her do your bidding,
She didn't have a choice,
It was forbidding,
You took away her voice.

She couldn't say no, 
She'd cover up the truth,
For you she was a show, 
Slowly losing her youth.

She was just food to you,
Served on a plate,
Quietly her depression grew,
While you ended up finding out too late.

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