There is a girl who sits in her bed,

Awake at ungodly hours stuck in her head.

She greets the night with dread.

Sometimes she wishes she was dead.

There is a girl who sits in her bed,

Staring at the ceiling overhead.

Hoping to be anywhere instead,

Yet all she sees is red.

There is a girl who sits in her bed,

Whose wrists have bled.

Her words have been read,

Except now she has fled.

There is girl who sits in her bed,

But there's a twist.

She's no longer breathing,

For she has gone to sleep with the dead.