Wrong impression.

She sits there in her room,
mulling over her life,
her life is full of gloom,
if only she had a knife.

She thinks of how they treat her,
and where her life is going,
they always say there better than her,
and now her pain is showing.

She sits alone up in her room,
makes no conversation,
and no one noticed her new perfume,
they made no communication.

No matter what she does,
Or how hard she tries,
No one makes a fuss,
And she sits there and cries.

She goes into yet another,
state of depression,
she kills herself slowly,
leaving everyone with the wrong impression.

©
~*~Jen~*~