suicidal saviour.

She's playing with puppet strings,
around her own bare neck,
she lets you win, so loses,
puts the cards back in the deck.
She lets you cry and whine,
holds your hand for a while,
but all the times she's there;
she's staring at the tiles.

She's thinking of her blood,
the red marks it would leave;
When it splashes and drips,
Right out of her long sleeves.
She's thinking of the pain,
all the glory and the fear,
she's hoping that it's easier
when the time is near.

She'll help you when you're hurting,
And cheer you up when you're down.
She hides in the dark;
so you will never see her frown.
She'll let you have a look,
After a certain time,
when her body's cold and damp,
and rotting in the ground.