The poor girl in the mirror,
With tears in her eyes,
Burns on her wrists and cuts on her thighs,
Face caked in makeup, the hurt in her eyes
Toothy fake smile, her only disguise.
She cries out to someone,
anyone at all,
To reach out and grab her,
to stop her free fall.
A silent tear falls as she recounts the night.
Wondering if someone will save her,
Someone to be her knight.
Fearing her parents
Judgemental bastards they,
she marks her 18th and counts down the days.
Lies to her friends and smiles tamely once more,
A thought fills her mind as she slams the door.
"Who will notice, no one will care.
Does anyone notice that I am even there?
I sit in the room and call them by name,
they see that it's me and turn the other way."
She raises her hand,
Enclosed within is her doom,
she smiles for real for the end of her gloom.
The pills seem to glitter
And call out her name,
"Mickaela! Mickaela! You will lose this game!"
She swallows them slowly,
One glance more,
As the girl in the mirror,
falls to the floor.
