Poetry

She walks in the room,
Her head hanging low,
They know her secret,
There’s nowhere to go.
She can feel their stairs,
Boring a hole in her back,
She must leave now,
But she cant, no not yet.
So she sits down,
In the back of the room,
To avoid all the stares,
That mean her doom.
She feels the walls closing,
Squishing her like a bug,
She cant breath,
She has to leave.
And still she cant,
Her arms are burning,
She raises her hand,
And asks to leave.
She runs to the bathroom,
And takes off her shoe,
Then drops her friend, into her hand,
Knowing bittersweet relief is to come soon.
She makes the first cut,
Then does it again,
Until her hand,
Is stained with red.
She sinks to the floor,
Blood stained and crying,
She’s fading fast,
She’s dying.

~ Crystal Leslie