Perfume
Sophia, Age 12, Markham, ON
                      One little spritz right under your wrists;
They say that the wrists hurt the least.
And watch the saccharine smell overpower;
Crimson, scarlet, and ruby. It's all you can see.
It reeks of desperation; angst, wretched misery;
Tears are streaming, you canít stop crying.
Torrential on wilted souls of those who relinquished;
Nobody understands your pain, youíre all alone.
Smile sardonically at the inferior stars blossoming in the sky;
Look at them, so cheerful, so jovial, and so happy. It makes you sick.
Donít tell anybody the secret to your enigmatic allure;
Everybody is telling you to get help, but what do they know?
Laugh gaily at the spiteful remarks from jealous strangers;
Youíre drifting away from those who are closest to you.
Youíre running out, so you make sure to buy more;
Addicted is what people call you.
Check the clock but itís too late now, all the shops are closed;
Itís never too late, my door is always open.
Willingly allow the perfume to seep inside your besmirched heart;
Put away that piercing edge. Donít let depression decide what to do next.
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This page was last updated on March 12, 2014 by the KIWW Webmaster.