Dear Miss Suicidal
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"I have more scars than friends," she cries out.
"I'm fine. I already ate. I'm just cold," she lied.
Her heart turned bitter cold, no more of the sweet loving girl. She knew what she wanted to do, and that's what hurt her most. She listened to the voice she made up in her head telling her to take the pills. She bawled every night in hope of getting out of this hell hole she was forced to call life.
Mental hospitals were threatened, but no action further. Parents divorced and her life started to fall apart. Her anxiety disorder didn't help either. She was picked on for dating a girl. She was bullied for going against society. She cried every night as she slit her wrists, hoping to feel something other than sadness.
When all hopes gave up, she grabbed the bottles, she wrote the letters and she quietly stayed in her room. She sat on her nicely made bed with the notes in her hand, and the bottle in the other. Under her pillow was a folded note. She wiped off her tears and grabbed the letter.
"Dear Miss Suicidal," She read aloud.
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I had survived the first. That was then; this is now. The blindfold of so many pills slowly died away and first though my finger then my head, a passion, a hurt and a need filled me as every moment was consumed with words; every breath with wisps of ink. But they were not all captured and somewhere in the deep abyss of living, lies the unspoken, almost unfelt feelings of decades in months. This is the half-empty account off all those nights from December through into the new year and the end of March. ...I pains me to share it. But it also makes it just not my problem anymore and that is something I long for- freedom and peace. Please note that all grammatical and linguistic, as well as those in punctuation and spelling or placing of words were intentional. If you LIKE this and want me to write a commentary on each poem and picture (as in my previous collection Apfel), please show me in comments and votes :) PLEASE DO NOT COPY any of the poetry or pictures.
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