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On a cold February night she sits alone in her room
While the rest of her family sits down to lasagna two rooms down
She slowly runs her finger over her worn “Courtney” necklace
As a solitary tear slides down her face
From her beautiful blues eyes
That are as deep as the ocean
I remember all the nights I marveled at them
Unable to see to their icy depths
But tonight their depths will be shown
She turns on her radio looking for a station, for a distraction
All she can find is the static
She can’t help but feel the same as the lost station
She’s heard oh so faintly, but she’s drowned out
By the distractions of a screaming world
She picks up the phone, but still, she only gets a busy signal
She runs her fingers through her curly brown hair
Her fingers are temporarily caught in purple tangles
And she can’t remember why she wanted to dye the tips
She throws on her black hoodie and sprints for the door
She breathes heavily as she nears the park
With a thud she rests below the willow tree
I can’t help but see the irony, although I don’t understand,
How can something so beautiful be so sad?
The night’s as black as the rose on her pants as she slowly trods home
Her dad welcomes her with screams as she opens the door
She pushes him aside as she races for the sanctuary of her room
As soon as she feels safe she searches for a candy bar inside her closet
Hoping the pureness will make her feel as good as it usually does
But instead she chokes on the sweetness
Gagging she reaches for her water
And she notices her reflection in the clear window
She feels her heart speed up as her wrists get that itchy feeling
And her stomach ties into an all too familiar knot
She looks at the clock and tries the number one more time
Only this time it rings…one…two…three…“Hello?”
She doesn’t know what to say
She doesn’t know if she wants to be stopped
“Hi.” She says
She’s talking to me as I flip my cards over one by one
3 of clubs. 7 of hearts. King of hearts…I stop. I stare.
The only king without a moustache. The suicide king.
As she continues to cry I tear the card to shreds.
I console her as best as I can
I tell her I love her
I tell her she’s not to blame for the things her mother did
I tell her she’s not to blame for the way she feels
I beg her not to do anything stupid
But apparently pleas aren’t enough…
As soon as she returns the phone to its receiver
She walks quietly to the kitchen drawer
And as silently as she can be she opens it
She stifles her final cry as she drags the knife across her flesh