Whispers of Silence

Faces of Depression

She's so loud—ugh, I hate her.
Enthusiastic participations during
   class—those I abhor.
"Pabida." I frequently hear those
   from acquaintances.
Dayum, how precise.

Why does she not lose her smile?
Advices and deep talks she shared
   with others' problems—does she
   think she knows it all?
Her presence screams confidence
   with traces of arrogance.
That bitchy attitude, those
   inconsiderate remarks—all I
   despise.

She's a wild lioness, and I see them
   innocent lambs cowering in fear.
I can almost foresee how these
   doves will end up hanging their
   own necks instead of that crow—
   yet why her?
Why is it that instead of theirs, I see
   that loud girl inside her room—
Lifeless, blood gushing out the
   wound on her left wrist that sent
   her to her doom?

She's arrogant, confident, a loud
   biatch with a smile—a menacing
   tiger.
Yet why had she done that? She
   can't even save herself, why did
   she talk and tried to save others?