5This poem still seems unfinished . . . any suggestions are welcome. Sorry about the format. The site is being weird
Broken she lay motionless
Except for the occasional solitary tear
Which crawled down her cheek
Her heart was beating
But she felt dead
She took a scrap of paper and a pen
And scribbled down little letters
Bearing her pain through the ink
It was if her soul had been pierced
And the poetry that she wrote
Was what she bled