That little girl, 

Small and simple, 

A-walk-to-Safeway kind.

The kind who wishes everything away in her little head.

The kind who can't see,

The kind who's talked about, 

with crow-black headphones on,

with redness present in her eyes, music blasting through her ears.

As sweet as honey to her--

Sounds drab and icy to another.

A star, 

Two,

Three,

Drawn on the fingers of her left hand 

Drawn to show the ones she wants to reach,

An imagination as wide as galaxies,

Stars written in her eyes,

Waves spilling through her words,

A mind wider than the world, 

Until she meets a black cloaked man with fumes coming out of his eyes,

A man with a future as good as hers,

A man with waves crashing in his eyes,

A man with sweet words,

One with the pull of a white rose.

One-touch is all it took,

She came first, tumbling down. 

Headfirst. 

The seams of her world tore apart, 

One by one.

And until she clamps her mouth down,

until she shuts her eyes,

Closes her windows and tapes her doors shut,

she becomes the girl who's world's as big as a bedroom,

She becomes the thorns on the white rose,

she becomes lost, 

Furious, and sharp.

She becomes the devil's right-hand man.