The Little Girl

There was a little girl, who cut up her world.
She put blood on the walls and made out her calls.

To the world she was shit and was nothing but it.
But to her surprise, that night she sighed.

She gave up on everything and lock herself in her room.
She tore everything up and cleaned out her mind.

She was the little girl who couldn't die.
The one with so many bruises when no one said why.

She was the one unnoticed and invisible to all.
She was compared to nothing but anything at all.

A worthless doll sat upon the shelf. It peered down at her and asked her for help.

She looked up frightened and peered up with fear.
The doll was a reflection of her in the mirror.

A reflection of life that plead out in cries.
Where this little girls soul was nonexistent inside.

She wanted to die so badly that night.
She sat in the corner, just her and a knife.

But after so many cuts and blood on the floor.
She fell asleep, in her own shredded core.

Like the rain, her tears continued to fall. That night the little girl died without anyone at all.