She often wrote poems full of love,
Ones that would fit just like a glove.
But there was one topic she dared not touch,
It was full of sadness, a subject so rough,
She longed to spill those thoughts on the page,
But alas it was a smile she'd stage.
Instead of writing the sorrow she endured,
She kept thoughts to herself to as she matured
Till one day it was all too strong
She felt her world was all too wrong
So she bled to meet sweet death
And her silent poems remain unsaid.
