Beautiful Girl

She puts on her prettiest dress and her favourite tune

And spins and spins alone in her room

 

The scars on her wrists are now body art light pink

They’re memories of her past that make her think

 

Of him and his smile; his laugh and his eyes

And now he is the person who she despises

 

Broken hearted, her body twists and turns

To the rhythm of the music that used to make her stomach churn

 

The phone rings but no-one picks up

The doors are locked; the windows shut

 

The song has ended, her last dance done

She swallows the sleeping pills with a bottle of rum

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Short and sweet is how I like my poetry.
This was based around one of my favourite songs: True Romance by Silverstein.

Reviews

[MajorJesusFreak]

I like it. I can relate.