Torn SouL

At school she was a bundle of joy,
She would laugh and play,
but she knew that she couldn't have that one single boy.
So years went on,
she tried to stop,
but the poor little girl,
let the world drink her blood like pop.
It was so addicting,
the pain she could not bear,
that old razor she use to use,
to cut her fragile sandy hair.
Soon the day came,
when she had left us here,
the boy felt he was to blame.
We tried to tell him not to fear,
for he was just so sweet,
he did not know.
She is gone now,
and we miss her so,
but as her vains would flow,
it was her time to go.