That poor lonely girl,
She hides her face,
In shame & sadness,
Too afraid to face the world.

She is a living death,
Controlled by despair,
Immune to pain,
She cannot feel anything.

That poor lonely girl, 
She slipped & she's bleeding
These "accidents" happen,
Too often to be believed.

Her heart is still beating,
Though emotionally cold,
She still feels something,
The piercing pressure, of the blade across her
wrists.