She was a pious girl, says the Bible On a pile of books she used to teach Smart girl too, says the novels and assignments On the big black desk in her room; devoted to her family  Says the portraits hanging on the walls Next to the creations made, beautiful like each of the creators Not much for organizing though, says the pile of clothes  Mounting on her chair and a messy bed.  She was in pain, says the rags Stained with hydrogen peroxide. She was lost, says the dark marks  On her paintings. She felt alone, Says the multiple pillows and stuffed animals Pilled on her bed to make her feel less empty.   She was blind, says the glasses case Hiding in her make-up bag. She cared too much about others,  Says the hugs she gave yet could not receive. She was trying to hold on, says the letters  Written shakily and tear stained.  But she was happy, says the smile, Big and beautiful behind tired eyes.  She was good, says the promises she made  With a broken heart. She was special,  Says the way she was left behind.