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She went to her room and locked her door,
She didn't want her parents to see.
Her time on Earth was done to her,
But most definitely not for me.

I wept when she died, she was my only friend,
though I thought we could be more,
I never imagined that that's how it would end,
For lovely Giselle, my Lenore.

She was the most beautiful girl with eyes of green and hair of gold,
But she rejected the red stars on her face, ignoring my love poems lined with lace.

She couldn't let anyone see her this way,
Her once green eyes had turned grey to match her feelings inside.
No one would notice the pain on the inside,
so she thought she might try to get show it on the outside.

So she gripped the razor in her fist
and very gently, cut her wrist.
it felt good, to feel the emotions slip from her eyes,
and in this small room, she dropped her happy disguise.

The blood dribbled down her arms,
As she looked at my letter, a sonnet of sorts,
about the way she made me feel.

She began to cry,
tears fell from her eyes
as tears often do,
It mixed with the blood,
and she let herself feel blue.

I loved her, I did, for the maiden fair, drove all of us mad with love
A lovely girl, So sweet Giselle,
In your small grave under the lily tree,
As I quietly whisper
"Thank you for being a friend to me."