Where Are My Words?

Eight Pages

I played with fire because I saw you dancing in the flame.
I coughed up water when I saw your face down deep.
I ran out into the highway because you were standing on the other side.
I downed an entire bottle when I heard your voice,
challenging me to chug.
I started running when I heard your laugh
and your footsteps pounding against the sidewalk.
I thought of your arms when I fell;
blood poured from my scraped knee.
I drew your face when you were sitting at the end of my bed.
I couldn't stop screaming when you appeared in my dream.
I wiped my tears as I sat beside that stone.
I held your mom's hand as she sobbed and stared at the ground.

And I couldn't wrap my mind around why you left.
You had talked to me about everything.
I was there when you cried,
laughed,
and did nothing.
I was there when you wrote and wrote,
but no matter how many times I asked
what you were writing
you ignored me.

Because all along you had been writing a letter.
The one that I awoke to.
Eight flimsy pages of guilt and suffering.
Eight pieces of paper that were covered in words of your hand.
Thousands of letters and words,
crammed into eight pages.
And each page explained nothing.
I don't know why you left.
But I woke up to your suicide note.
Why did it have to be then?
Why did I have to be the one
to wake up and see eight pieces of paper
neatly folded beside my exhausted body?
Why did you decide for that night
to be your last?
Why was it that you wanted to leave?
After all you talked to me about,
this was never an issue.
I don't understand why you're gone.

I curled in a ball when the whispering became too much.
I skipped school,
my emotional strength had weakened.
I kept dreaming of you,
it turned into insomnia.
I went back to school and started crying;
the teacher had skipped your name checking attendance.
I stopped eating when I watched as you sat at the table across from me.
I punched a wall when our first fight replayed through my mind.
And I blamed myself for your absence.

I can't remember your face anymore,
even though my dresser is lined with our pictures.
It seems like I never lived a life with you.
I used to read eight pages every night,
then once a week,
now it's at least two times a month.
Because I've came to terms with the fact you're gone.
But I still cannot understand why.
You decided to leave on my birthday.
The party the night before
left you laying beside me in bed.
Best friends stuck together.
Why didn't you stay with me?

I walked the highway to get away from your memory.
I choked on tears as I clutched onto the letter in my pocket.
I avoided the stopping cars,
strangers asked if I needed a ride.
I felt useless.
I wanted you back.
Best friend, you were my world.
And as I sit on the ledge, I realize that maybe
I was the reason you left.
I held onto that thought as I imagined your junky car,
zooming by.
I watched you sit beside me on the ledge,
"Hold my hand."
I tried so hard to picture that face in my mind.
And it finally appeared when I jumped.