》☆▪︎°"The Ghost Named Mary"▪︎°☆《
》▪︎She was born to hands that praised the Lord,
A child wrapped tight in holy chords.
Her parents smiled, called her divine,
And placed her on the chapel line.
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》▪︎Each day a hymn, each breath a rule—
A life shaped sharp beneath the pew.
But ten years old, she saw her sin:
She loved not boys, but girls like skin.
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》▪︎She told no soul, she held her breath,
Afraid of flames, afraid of death.
At thirteen, one girl saw her light—
And kissed her once, beneath the night.
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》▪︎It bloomed, then rotted, cold and fast—
The girl wore masks and didn’t last.
By fourteen, drugs were passed like sweets,
Addiction sung in forest seats.
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》▪︎Mary, fragile, soft to sway,
Let poison steal her youth away.
A puppet pulled by smiling lies,
Who didn’t see the ending rise.
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》▪︎At fifteen, home became a blade—
Her father hit, her mother prayed.
They dragged her out, called her possessed,
With bruises blue across her chest.
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》▪︎No bed. No name. No one who cared.
She called the girl, but no one dared.
Alone, she found her final friend—
A street-born drug that promised end.
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》▪︎She took too much. She stopped her breath.
She chose, this time, a cleaner death.
But when they found her—barely whole—
They took her organs, not her soul.
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》▪︎A hollow corpse, a family’s shame—
They spat her name, denied all blame.
“She’s gone to Hell,” her mother said.
But Hell had better use for dead.
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》▪︎She didn’t wake in heaven’s grace—
But on cold soil, beneath a place
Of twisted lights and rotting cheer,
Where laughter hides what all should fear.
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》▪︎The circus took what death had missed—
A lifeless girl the world dismissed.
They gave her paint, a silent role,
And stitched a mask across her soul.
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》▪︎They call it show. She calls it fate.
Each night repeats. Each laugh is fake.
She fears the others—ghosts in paint—
Believes they’re demons dressed as saints.
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》▪︎But Harunii smiles with gentler eyes,
The only friend where madness lies.
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》▪︎Now Mary whispers in the ring,
Her voice too soft for anything.
She walks alone, she breathes regret,
And writes in journals to forget.
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》▪︎She laughs sometimes, but not for joy.
She’s just a broken, haunted toy.
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》▪︎She died betrayed, unloved, unheard,
Carved open deep and left absurd.
Now she just waits—too cold to scream,
Trapped in a place that kills the dream.
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( THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT! IT'S SO GOOD TO CREATE OC AND ALSO THANK YOU FOR READING! I HOPE YOU LIKE MARY! )
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