Pretty Little Kate

'Twas on the day her mother died that something hidden deep inside

Would alter everything that had been pretty little Kate

No more then was the blonde haired girl, who was her mothers world

She'd transformed into black to match the colour of her hate 

At night she'd take a razor blade and grip with fingers good and tight

And drag it over tender skin upon concealed arms

It wasn't pain she sort but rather anything that eased her thoughts

And blood was what it took to keep her tortured spirit calm

The first cut wasn't deep enough, she pressed a little harder 

But not enough to chip the bone or nerves to aggravate 

When the blood came pouring it released the inner demons 

That dwelled inside the complex world of pretty little Kate

The bloody cross upon her, reminded her of Sunday's 

She slashed again across the cross, so crossing out the cross

The razor blade fell to the floor, the blood began to flow some more

And she decided that enough was spilled to compensate her loss

Every night would be the same; she'd walk the dirty darker streets

Where men would come with money and to spread unknown disease 

She'd risk her life in alleyways with strangers looking down on her

Many times she'd thought to bite whist down upon her knees

On her journey home where she would walk the streets alone 

The hours of her painful day would always finish late

No one waited home for her and no one even cared 

As she was not the girl who once was known as pretty little Kate