Do you ever wonder what’s going on in people’s heads ,
Do you ever just lay on your bed
And just wonder why spiders have such tiny heads ?
It’s just past midnight and she can’t sleep,
Same as yesterday
And probably tomorrow,
Hopefully in the morning she will be dead.
I’ll tell you about her …
You see you wouldn’t understand her ,
No one does
And it’s okay .
Some puzzles are best left unsolved.
She is so many things in one big box of pain ,
The fat,ugly 9 year old.
The sill 12 year old,
She is the mistake ,
The afterthought …
She is a minor character in a bestseller.
The girl who dies in page one ,
The most irrelevant in the clue .
She is the object of experiment ,
The town with no residence,
The parking spot no one likes
She is heavy rains on what seemed like a peaceful night ,
She is an element of destruction.
And it’s her fault,
That she has been manipulated and used,
Abused and misused .
She has been the door mat ,
Where all the filth is left ,
The dirty and stinky shoes ….
And that’s okay .
Someday she will fade away.
To be here she never chose ,
So don’t come any close,
Unless you’ll be honest with the speech you make at her funeral ,
She gets to pick her dying day.
Maybe today is the day before the day I die ~Anonymous