An empty hall she roamed
In groups she walks alone
Out standing but unnoticed
She lives in shadow grove
The girls who trudge about
Have skin marked and bruised
They take there anger out
Using sharp to the touch tools
But this is not that story
No she does not cut
How could loving yourself
Make you stick out
No she doesn't cry
Her anger is short lived
For someone so forgiving
The unknown is where she is
YOU ARE READING
Into The Forward
PoetryLife is an empty book Lonesome in its Bland Market For from the first word Are bloods pen dashes across it Lost in the sea of red Sail across it.
