A little girl
Not older than 7
Has no friends
And a family that hates her
All she has is a notebook
And a pencil nearly used to the rim
And the hope that that pencil
Will never run out.
A little girl
No younger than 16
Still has no friends
And both her parents are gone.
She still has that notebook
But her pencil is gone
So now she writes in blood
From her own bleeding arm.
That little girl
Is no longer here
She left without friends
Not missing her family
She lost her black notebook
To which she poured out all her soul
And with it all her blood
And with the last drop, her life.
