The Girl Who Cried While Brushing Her Hair

Each stroke equalled a new tear,
The red fiery hair did not equate to her shattered personality
As she thought to herself, the girl you see is me,
When she looked into the mirror and she looked into her eyes, all she saw was fear.

Her own man made demons surrounded her, intensifying her pain,
They forced her to slit into her natural masterpiece.
Her puffy eyes, swollen lips and red nose,
No one ever noticed those flaws in the rain.

After 18 years of being awake,
She didn't see any purpose.
This agony which didn't make sense to her,
Only lead to her final break.

As she sat there in front of the mirror, brushing her wet hair,
The girl cried.
The long fire she brushed, which reached to the dimples of her back,
She knew the chair she was seated upon was to be her death chair.

As she smiled, as the tear rolled down her face,
She took one, then two then finally thirty pills.
Her eyes began to close, the pain fading with her life,
She was now in the hands of God, Our Lord, Saviour and Grace.