S**t

She's the one who was hurt, the one you smacked around like a little doll, who was lost her way, who didn't know what to do. She was lonely, craving attention, going guy after guy, soon she was called a s**t, not caring about it all, all she wanted was you love her heart that you tore out of her, carved it out and put in your jar of hearts along with all the other girls you hurt. She continued this pattern, until it went to far.

Your so-called jockey football friends had fun with her in the locker room. Taking her one after another, until she was nothing left but a broken shell. They even left their mark on her, carving the word s**t into her leg, her screams heard but ignored.

The next day, her mother went upstairs to wake up her baby girl, her only child, only to find her dead, hanging from the ceiling fan from the rope that she and her dad used to help tie up the swing during the summer. This is what you did, you killed her, drove her to the edge, you tossed her in the trash like she was nothing. But she was really EVERYTHING that you had really wanted.