Story Of The Young Girl In Whtie

Walking with the morning,

As the night goes to bed,

Singing with the flowers,

And dancing with claret.

As soon as the cerulean,

Opens its eyes.

We’ll walk along the brink,

Of the ocean’s demise.

Sitting with your pensiveness,

A melancholic tone.

To whomever ruined it,

I do not condone.

We’ll convey the story,

Of the young girl in white,

Walking with a broken heel,

And rimmed in red, her eyes.

I,

Do not believe this innocence,

Struck as such a late age.

I,

See right through your ignorance,

Do you think this is just a game?

Here but in a fortnight,

As autumn falls asleep.

Wandering among the lust

Is just as wrong to me.

Faking your precision,

When the knife comes around,

Pouring you some pride but then,

Her name spills from your mouth.

Dropping like a bomb,

They call,

It’s simply fun to watch.

Bloodcurdling indifference,

And her apathy is lost.

And where was her sympathy?

I thought I made that clear,

Condolence walked away,

But stayed too long to cease her fear.

I,

Do not believe this innocence,

Struck as such a late age.

I,

See right through your ignorance,

Do you think this is just a game?

I,

Do not believe this innocence,

Struck as such a late age.

I,

See right through your ignorance,

Do you think this is just a game?

Where was my happy ending?

This can’t be a story,

Without smiles on their faces.

I ordered my demerits,

Wiped, but this book can’t bear it.

She isn’t smiling,

Smiling,

She’s dying.

I,

Do not believe this innocence,

Struck as such a late age.

I,

See right through your ignorance,

Do you think this is just a game?

I,

Do not believe this innocence,

Struck as such a late age.

I,

Do not believe this innocence,

Struck as such a late age.

I,

Do not believe this innocence,

Struck as such a late age.

I,

Do not believe this innocence,

Struck as such a late age.

I,

See right through your ignorance,

Do you think this is just a game?

Where was my happy ending?

This can’t be a story,

Without smiles on their faces.

I ordered my demerits,

Wiped, but this book can’t bear it.

She isn’t smiling,

Smiling,

She’s dying.

She’s dying.