Poetress

Roses drip blood from their pointed green thorns . Blood drops onto the glittering white snow She hears the sad grey wolf howl as it mourns At night she stays up to watch the moon glow In the morning the bright sun wakes her up She wonders when help will come to save her . She is stuck, she uses her hands as a cup The weeks go by in a long distant blur She cries every night looking up at stars She even prays on the sad lonely beach . Her hand grazes over her many scars She is loud but no one hears her sad screech She is stuck on an island of her own . She is stuck sitting on her island throne