She was a writer,
She wrote stories so vast, that the characters leap through the pages.
She made her imagination run wild,
She was beautiful in her own way.
She was whiffs of Cinnamon,
Lemon shampoo,
Lilac and Lavender Fragrance, passionately sweet.
She was bubbly,
Energetic,
So alive,
and what people remembers her about was her smile,
a smile that mesmerizes everyone that she knew and didn't,
but that persona,
that was for show.
To hide the true chaos inside her.
Different types of suicidal thoughts lingered in her mind.
She was so different yet she fitted in because of her Play-Pretend.
She was alone and she hurt herself for it.
She was a brave one,
holding knives and blades, teasing her skin.
Why? Why was she like that?
It's because she's alone,
that fake smile plastered on her face all this time,
but still no one noticed how wrecked she was,
how hard it is to pretend, but she chooses it still,
because she doesn't want to be alone,
even in her death.
So every night she would tease her skin with blades and knives,
She'd always say,
"Please, Please Forget-me-not."
I SUCK TEEHEE....
MY WORKS WHICH WERE PRIVATE JUST A MINUTE AGO NOW IS POSTED HERE AND IT SUCKS AHAHAHHA
beginner >_<
