My daughter's poetry sucks

My daughter (who thinks she's a vampire of some kind), is nurturing the notion of someday becoming a vampire that makes her living writing poetry. Personally, I don't think she should quit her job at Burger King, but I'll let you be the judge as you peruse these gems I plucked from the hardrive of the family computer:

"The Game"

Lives float by in the wind like plastic bags,
I reach up and catch one, then release it again.
The game is called love and we are all players,
Some win, some lose, and some don't play at all.
"Is it cheating to use a net?" You whisper.
"No, but it is quality, not quantity," I reply.
One man's trash is another's treasure,
Freedom is only illusion!
We are all lost...

"The Ascent"

Walking into a howling wind, up the hill of understanding,
I avoid the avalanche of greed, the crevasses of avarice.
A raven symbolizing jealousy shrieks my name,
I turn and fall as I lose my grip on the rock of enlightenment,
His eyes revealing more of myself than I was ready to see.

"A Heart Laid Barren"

Cold as the coldest ice, dark as the blackest night,
My heart beats but is empty, hollow as a dead tree.
The clouds turn gray in my sky, the rainbows fade,
Snow falls, but my world's children do not make snowmen.
They are too sad about my lost soul.

"Mad Have I Gone?"

The icy tentacles of madness hold me in their embrace,
Pulling me under the icy waters of insanity where I must face,
The sunken treasures of my childhood dreams,
And my parents incessant yelling and screams.
The ocean depths soon become warm and inviting,
Oblivious to reality I give up and stop fighting.
In the real world I was nobody, alone and lost,
Now in a world of my own invention, I am the boss!

"Inspiration"

Spinning, turning, looking, GRASPING for our lost love,
A million and one rain drops of Christmas land on my head,
drip down my face like a saddened ocelot at a party.
Whispering, talking, now yelling, I will not beg, no!
Spinning, screaming, falling further than I ever have before,
My breaking heart drips off the rock of your intolerance.

"Day of Reckoning"

Fleeting glimpses through a door's crack,
Of faith's last stand in a war of souls.
The commentator stalls, his bet is his life!
Strife in this humble land, blackened with a curse,
Bends over backward to fall into infinity.
We are all lost...

"The Doppelganger"

Under the bed, curled in a ball she lays crying,
To herself, each day and night she keeps lying.
If only she could be born again, she would gladly take it,
Instead she puts on her false smile, too cowardly not to fake it.
There she is, I'm looking at her now,
In the mirror, the big fat cow.
I am she and she is me,
Though I do not want her to be.