She sits there alone,
Crying; crying over her life,
Debating over the idea; over an idea
To slit her wrist with her pocketknife.
She cries out in pain,
As she drags the knife over her wrist,
When will this torture end?
She decides.
She can’t go home,
Her family doesn’t love her.
She can’t go anywhere,
She’s not old enough.
Where can she go?
She can end her life,
For her own satisfactions.
She can end this life,
To get to heaven.
But someone comes along,
And tugs at her soul,
Telling her to stay alive,
Until the right time comes.
This person is her soul-mate,
Someone who will love her no matter what,
If they separate,
He will still love her.
I will still love you.
I will still love you.
I will still love you.
Little Guivioli; I will still love you.
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