She wanted you every night
To pick up the phone
Tell her it was ok
Ok to be the insecure girl she was
Her mind a decaying flower
Her heart, drowning in sorrow
She longer had the power to get through another day
Permanent sleep coming her way
She wanted you every night to pick up the phone
So she wouldn't pick up the pills
Pick up the bottle
Pick up the pot
Pick up her inhalor
She wanted you to pick up the phone and answer her prayers
She hated God for making her feel this way
She hated you for not answering " Baby I need your cold hands to touch me and hear you call me yours to give me the illusion that I am not alone. I need you"
Sitting on the cold tile floor
Knife behind her
Phone beside her
One more time she called
Him aching to her his voice one last time
Straight to voicemail
Then to flatline
