Too Late
The suffering she sees everyday,
Is nothing compared to her unspoken pain,
She sits staring at her wrists ,
Unheard screams at silent twists ,
Hurt in the form of blood so red,
Not long until she is dead,
She holds the rope in bleeding hands,
Sweat pouring from her wet glands,
Tears roll down her troubled face,
Next ones ready for a race,
Plan so perfect, yet easily devisable,
No-one will notice cos she's invisible,
Surrounded by a broken fence,
The air around her so very tense,
A faded angel in disguise,
No- one to her will apologise,
Unwanted garbage must be removed,
Its carnage,
No one can save her from this fate,
Don't worry, it's over, done Too Late.
Dark Hearted Cherry Blossom I was wondering if anyone wanted a story with this poem? If so R+R