when I first met her she talked
about how easy going she was,
that she was extremely low maintenance,
ha.
there were so many nights when
she talked
about
killing herself. suicide.
pulling the plug with
pills, booze, or perhaps
a razor nearby,
I never knew exactly what her method
of leaving was, but it came up every
other blue moon.
i'd stare at her, and ask her why,
what,
is there anything I can do
to help you. but I knew what
it was.
I knew all too well
her reasons for being through,
there was never any reply.
just the gentle sobbing
in the half dark,
her body, a rag doll,
curled into a ball,
the mascara
running scared from her eyes.
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