White

A childhood stolen far too soon.
I never asked to make these decisions
I never asked for the guilt
For the yelling
For the blame
For the hatred
For the depression
For the mania
For the anger
For the loneliness
For the sense of being so fucking alone
I didn’t chose any of this and still I can’t walk away

I wonder how I would feel if she were to succeed
If the blade cut through and I just watched instead of making the call
What if the cocktail worked or the pills kicked in or the rope dug just that much deeper.
What if I let her run, what if I just let her go.

I feel so much anger watching her peacefully sleep with her wrists wrapped in white.
And I wonder, when do I get mine?