Happy was the kid with her heart in her chest,
Smiling the brightest, looking her best.
Happy was the kid unaware of the world,
Unknown to the abuses he then brutally hurled.
Happy was the kid before that spoiled city boy,
Before her precious existence got mistaken for a toy.
Now all that’s left is a dying rose,
Writing sad poems and these heart-shattering prose,
Smile, she does, and still looks her very best,
All that’s missing now is the heart in her chest.