Dreary Sonnet

Pretty little psychotic girl, silent,
In the pink dress that clings to her figure
Like a shroud for a mortician's client.
By pretending joy, she tried to inure
To the pain she felt everyday inside.
Quietly, she had hid it behind smiles,
And she always wore pink dresses to hide
The cuts that dripped onto the bathroom tiles.
No one could have ever predicted this,
When she overdosed on forty Advil,
And found, already lost in the abyss,
Her life taken of her own choice and will.
"She seemed so happy", some had tried to tell,
But none knew that words shot her soul to hell.