Dying To Live

#11

A/N: I wrote a poem similar to 'To Santa Claus and Little Sisters'.

Once,

A little girl sad in her room,

The door open,

And she played with her dolls,

How the pretty princess fell for the prince,

And the prince married the princess,

And they lived in pure bless.

And her brother played with his,

And their mother was watching them smiling,

And their father came from work

With his warm old car,

And brushed his long shiny hair,

And adjusted his glasses.

Once,

Went the little girl to school,

And She made two friends,

And sat with them on breaks,

And got an "A" on her test,

And mother kissed her and hugged her

father too,

And they gave her a big pretty doll,

With long blond hair,

And crystal blue eyes,

And her brother Smiled at her.

Once,

The girl grew older,

And her classmates laughed at her

Because she never spoke

Or smiles,

And she wrote an essay

It was too long that her friends didn't like,

And the teacher gave her an "A"

And her mother was happy,

And her brother played war games on the computer,

And her father cut his hair,

And stopped wearing glasses

Cause they broke.

Once,

The girl lost her friends

Because they didn't love her anymore

She sat in her room,

And closed the door,

She played with the dolls in her hands,

And a wooden box in front of her,

How the witch killed the princess,

And put her in the coffin,

And the happy ending never came.

And her brother began fighting with her,

On meaningless things.

And her mother looked at them

With tiered eyes,

And father came late at home.

Once,

The girl sat alone in school,

And the students laughed at her ugly face,

And she went home,

And sat alone,

And soaked her pillow with tears.

And her mother never noticed.

And her brother too.

So she drew a heart,

full of stitches.

And hid it in her room.

And read books

About death and crimes

And vampires and suicide.

Once,

The pretty big doll got her face burned,

It lost half of it's hair,

And the face became scary.

But the girl slept,

With the burned doll in her arms,

And then her classmates laughed at her.

And her grades lowered.

And her mother never smiled,

Nor her father.

So she read more,

And drew more

And drowned in darkness more and more.

Once,

The girl went to school,

And her work was never enough,

Nor her looks,

So she returned home,

And went to the bathroom.

She sat and cried.

She had enough.

So she slashed her veins open,

To let them breath,

And to stop

The evil thoughts from dancing in her head,

So she hurt herself.

And no one knew.

And her brother rarely talked to her.

Once,

The girl worked harder,

And got a good grade,

And showed it to her parents,

But it wasn't enough,

So she tore it

And tore it

And cried.

And changed her hairstyle,

to hide her face.

And people though that she was an attention seeker,

But they never knew,

That she was hiding from their stares.

And when she returned home

She wrote stories on her skin,

Sad stories with her blood,

To have a little peace in her mind.

And asked herself

When will it end.