She was passing me
Just as I looked up
Her blond locks flowing
And her lips red
The definition of beauty
She was passing me
But stopped
When her shoe slipped off
I moved quickly
Grabbing and giving
Like it was a glass slipper
I only saw the cover
I didn't know the story
That her story was tragic
Full of pain and sadness
Now I know her story
But it's to late
She lays there
Her once tan skin pale
Her blond hair knotted
And tied into place
Lips blood red
And wrist facing down
Hiding the story
As people are passing
She's laying still
Not sleeping
Not resting
But finally at peace
YOU ARE READING
Unknown Poetry
PoetryI write poetry and it all gets written dow here. I don't update everyday sometimes not every week. I write when I feel like I need to write Don't forget to vote
