(s. s.)
The picture on the wall,
Could never tell a perfect story,
This she knew.
A big house,
Standing as a fortress;
A mansion.
Designed with the purest of marbles,
Enchanted by the riches that lay within.
Cars with tags, of various brands.
A name fame, to match perfectly.
But within laid a somber fairy-tale.
A girl, craving for acceptance.
Born of two deviant parents,
Deviant enough to never care.
Entrapped by the clutches of material needs,
Their conscience were made to perish.
Bickering and squabbling,
Altercation was the only language they understood between themselves.
One foot in today,
Another foot out the next.
She did everything she could to gain their acceptance.
Mommy and daddy,
Never loved you;
This play like a ringtone, nonstop in her head.
Acting out;
Rebelling, Parties, Drugs.
Until one faithful day,
She couldn't take it anymore.
On that very day,
She hit rock bottom,
and she slit her wrists.
As blood poured profusely from her veins,
She stared long and hard at the portrait of her family smiling on the wall.
Growing moist her cheeks,
With tears,
She closed her eyes in death.
The picture on the wall,
Could never tell a perfect story,
And this she knew.