Bleeding Mascara

In the valley of death, where the red river flows,
There stands a girl, holding onto a crimson rose.
Paler than a corpse, nothing but skin and bones,
They pick her apart with haggard sticks and stones.

The bugs crawl underneath her skin, eating away,
Her agony is put out onto a starlit display.
The blood lays all around her, dried and crusted,
Because of white lies that she never should`ve trusted.

Clothes ripped and tattered, no place to call home,
Empty, jagged streets -- she continues to roam.
Bleeding mascara trickles down her shaking face,
In a world of blood and war, she`s found her place.

-Jenna Elphick
November 11, 2007

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A metaphoric poem for the drug users who abuse Meth.