She is sitting beneath a weeping tree,
Pain and lonliness are not setting her free.
The dark clouds provide her a shadow,
With each painful night she is feeling low.
She cries every night and fakes a smile,
To know her melancholic mystery, walk a mile.
Her dark circles certifies her deep sorrow,
She wish there was happiness store to borrow.
This time she lost the meaning of life,
To live or die, with herself she is in strife.
This bitter phase was just too vast,
She wish her warranty no longer to last.
She forgot that only demons exist in this deceitful planet,
Because whenever she tried to share her sadness all she got was a neglect.
She finally took a blade and cut her hand,
Because she found no one who would take a stand.
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