Weak for weeks she sits down in a wooden chair,
with trembling fingertips she twirls her fraying hair.
She looks across the room to see an older wiser face, a soft sadness as she hands her a page.
she reaches for the paper and brings it close, her heart has been racing this whole time but for now thats fairly normal.
She looks over the page and lets out a sigh, as her nightmare is confirmed and the elderly nurse reminds her how easy it is to die.
She thinks about her life, her goals and her mistakes, her ambitions and dreams and sets them on replay... "How can I recover?" With a trembling voice she asks.
"Well, as a matter of fact, I have a very good answer for that."
They write down notes, she makes mental lists, she reminds herself she can get through this. She sends a text to her boyfriend, and he only jokes, She brushes it aside with a sugar coat.
The next evening she approaches him again, at a bench and explains everything to him. He is shocked, and saddened by the news, but remains positive and to cry he would refuse.
They talk, she stammers, he holds her tight. She's scared and broken, recovery starts tomorrow night.
YOU ARE READING
Poems of a Lost Girl
PoetryA collection of poems written on my free time, they are mostly all free-style so stanzas and patterns may not always add up exactly but I assure you it staggers the quality hardly at best. I believe a poem can tell you a lot about a person, their i...
