His sister found him,
Laying still on the floor.
She smelt a smell,
That she'd never smelt before.
She shook his body,
Cold and limp,
Empty bottles all around,
His medication all crushed.
His curtains closed and dusty,
Vomit on his frothing lips.
His room so damp and dismal,
Her tears stained his cheeks.
She called the ambulance anyway,
But they only took him away,
The body bag now full,
An old house now empty.
Funeral plans,
And goodbyes.
She went back to the house that night,
Searched and searched for any clue,
As to why he killed her too.
Twelve letters in a drawer,
Twelve letters all for different people,
Twelve letters all Good and bad,
Twelve letters all reasons why,
One way or another.
YOU ARE READING
Sertraline
PoetryHUGE TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS ONE - Themes include: Drug Use and Overdose, Suicide and Depression, Self-harm and Abuse. [PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION]
