Auburn hair strewn over lined, wrinkled paper
Mascara pollutes her tears, falling downward
Contaminated tears, contaminated emotions
Frustration trapped inside her pen
Ink so stubborn, thoughts so stubborn
Milky skin pushed through constricting fabric
Bound by law, bound by society
Time to break loose, find her footsteps
Finish her letter, put down her pen
Sadly uncompleted, essence of failure
Signed her name, dot the I
Have to find the weapon of her choice
Choose the icicle, it will melt away
Play the game, “How to Commit the Perfect Murderâ€
Even if it is a game with yourself
Have to find the weapon of her choice
Choose the icicle, it will melt away
Auburn hair strewn over carpeted floor
Final smile, final footsteps
Holding her icicle, the weapon of choice
Broke to freedom, broke to redemption
