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Poetry In this empty house of dreams,
Stands a vacant room at the end of the hall.
A lonely girl sits inside.
All alone with her razorblade and knife.
The tears she cries fall to the dusty floor.
Blood sprayed across white walls,
Paintings of all the pain deep inside.
A cold shadow sitting in the corner,
Crying and wishing there was something to her life.
Dead poems and lyrics scratched into her hand.
Nothing can be right anymore,
The road has ended here.
She'll slip in vain,
Blades cutting the tattered nerves,
As the world turns 'round and 'round her.
She's dying in this ritual suicide.
And they could save her now,
If they only knew.
