Poetry

She's a broken image
In a shattered mirror.
She's a figment of a happy lie,
Just waiting for her life to be clearer.

She's a lost smile
Among broken dreams.
In a nightmare called life,
With nothing but venomous screams.

She's a disapointment,
To all of those who know her.
She tries to bring pride,
But as to how she's unsure.

She's a portrayal of a sin,
To much to bare.
A solution to an evil,
Without a care.

She's a withering rose,
With bloody black thorns.
Waiting for an absolution,
That will never come.

So why does she live,
When so eager to die?
Why should she care?
Why should she try?