A bloody finger painting is all that remains
of a girl
who was seen just the other day;
waiting to dance in the rain
with a pink umbrella on a sunny day.

Make-up running down her face.
Tears without rain are such a waste.

She used to play hopscotch,
but can't anymore.

Like a paper doll,
crushed and faded;
singed and tore;
choking on the ashes,
because no one loved her anymore.

Paper tears, and it burns,
but cannot bleed or cry.
The lovely girl you turned to paper
is much more fragile-
Why?

She hears the lullabies you forgot to cry.
She bleeds,
and when you least expect it-
Dies.