she stands in front of the mirror
in a pretty dress, a smile on her face
and for once her life seams clearer
but then she takes a closer look
at the image in the reflection, and she loses trace
of the happiness she had hoped to hold onto
she crumbles to the floor,
her imperfections, her every flaw
the image looks back at her
a devilish look in the eyes,
and tells her how ugly she is,
the scars on her wrists, the tears she cries
she now sits at a desk,
her tears staining the page she writes on
the words ringing inside her head
as she writes her suicide note,
and lays on her bed,
the pretty dress flowing beneath her
and the sheets coloured red
the pretty picture on her wrists
the demons inside her head
the container of pills leaving her grip
as she takes her last breath
now she's dead.
YOU ARE READING
save me, please
Poetry"Maybe I don't cry, but it hurts. Maybe I won't say, but I feel. Maybe I don't show, but I care." This is my way of expressing how I feel and getting these suffocating thoughts out of my head.
