Little black boxes
and pumpkin cars...

Oh, these beautiful words
carved across her skin...

Beautiful black box
engraved with lies...

**This poem is a stanza by stanza conversation...
My razor blade so small and shiny...

Twirl the rose thorn words
slipping silently through minds...

This rain is falling
again and again...

Gasoline smells
burning into her nose...

Reader, feel the breeze
as it brushes your cheek...

Memories float away
on this cherry blossomed wind...

She's slipping under
reach for her hand...

She stands there
so lost..so alone...

You stupid girl
what did you assume...