Dear ballerina

Dancing like a beautiful ballerina, she twirls and twirls and twirls, like there's just no end to it all.
Then she falls. She doesn't get up, no, she doesn't. She's laying there, bare naked. You can almost touch her skin with your eyes.

She's pale, very pale.

She doesn't like getting up when she falls. Know why?
Because she doesn't know why she should.
What's wrong with falling and never getting up? What's wrong with laying there waiting to be preyed on? You see a girl or do you see a soul? A weak soul, dimming, blending into the dark night. The moonlight is shining, but she hides away from it.

Those eyes. They're wide open. Not once has she blinked.
You ask yourself "Is she alright? Is she dead?" I tell you she's perfectly fine.
The one who's not is you.

She sees you. She sees right through you, just like she's starring into a crystal clear window, through to all the dirt and blood. She sees your secrets. That's why she's got her eyes wide open. But she's not scared. Not one single bone in her feels a chill from all the gore and horror.

She's just a beautiful ballerina.