PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Sixteen candles on the birthday cake this year,

Baby girl has grown up,

Gone from dolls and toys to guitars and boys.

Daddy's girl is dressed in black,

Mommy's daughter plays in a band,

Where the hell has their pretty baby gone?



Baby goes out on Friday nights,

Smokes her cigarettes and does her drugs.

Her friends hate her and she doesn't care.

Gothic princess with a broken tiara,

Scuffed combat boots and ripped fishnet stockings,

Nobody is ever going to understand her.



She's got a perfect boyfriend,

The man that everyone loves and wants and hates.

Her loves her like nobody else.

When he's around she smiles so happily,

But when he's gone,

She cries tears that make the eyeliner run.



In her room alone, got the music playing,

Pen in the hand, mind reeling.

So alone, but glad in the strangest way.

Her tears mix with the ink,

Dripping down the page.

She's only happy when she's miserable.



Baby is sixteen today, still just another basket case in the Club.

She's a criminal and whore, a Goth and an outcast.

Sixteen candles are blown out one by one,

Let's hope that we don't fuck this year up.

Where has their precious daughter gone?

She's sleeping in the gutter tonight, cigarette in one hand,

A bullet in the other.