Girl, she was called.
Black-and-white makeup on face
so pallor,
Framing it with hair dyed a
midnight hue.
Around her thin neck, wrapped a
choker.
From the tips of her hair
Down to her pointy-toed shoes,
Clad in black, she was.
To drive her parents mad,
She was determined to do.
She frequents at gothic
clubs,
A sense of belonging desired.
The gothic scene, she fits in
With bondage and fetish
attire.
Short skirts and fishnet
tights,
Clothes that were torn,
Ornamented with silver jewelry,
And the ankh sometimes worn.
Dark were her thoughts,
And her poems likewise.
Her friends were of such,

But emos, she despised.
She doesn’t cut her wrists,
Not for fear of pain.
She locks herself in her room
And tries to keep sane.
With a paper in front of her,
She pours out her misery.
Wandering to faraway lands,
Pondering over death’s mystery.
Obsessed was she, by the beauty
Of dark things and the
supernatural.
Haunting abandoned cemeteries,
Desolate graveyards, all things
of peril.