Irony
Everyday her wrists cried those red tears.
Everyday those scars went undected under her favorite band bracelets.
Everyday she was invisible.
So how come when her fridgid cold body sat in that hard wooden box,
Her whole school was crying,
Everyone saying how much they missed her,
How much they loved her.
But they didn't really.
Funny when you're dead how people start listening.
This poem is about:
Our world