A cry for help...last year...

Thick red slashes on a less than slender wrist...
Hidden by cheap pink plastic, you don't see...
Pain pouring out of her heart, her soul.
She's crying out to you, waiting, yearning...
You don't hear...you don't come...

Tear tracks run down brown chubby cheeks...
Hidden by a smile, you don't see...
The agony flashing in her eyes.
Her eyes are like an open book...
One look and you'll see....
But you don't look...you don't see...

And then it's too late,
As her casket is lowered, 6 feet down,
Suddenly you realise,
You see the red slashes,
You hear the cries,
You see the pain...
But it's too late...she's gone.