Why Wasn't Anyone There?

Pink, sticky blood gathers at her fingertips
Thin rivulets of red flowing down her arm
Congregating into fat, sickly drips
That fall and wash away all of her charm.

Cutting herself deliberately
Blood splashes on the cement floor
She slashes again fervently
Blood makes her crave the sight of gore.

She thinks that she's irrevocably taunted
But then again, she's been utterly wronged
Her brain is continuously haunted
By the spooky melodies of malignant songs.

What didn't anyone tell her they cared, and then help her get through?
Why wasn't there anybody there, and where in the world were you?

~Ultimate Schuyler
^-^ My first sonnet. Please review.