literature

Died.

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Literature Text

What if she killed herself today?
Got sick of the wars and fighting,
Where not even music could soothe her,
And she couldn't run away from this anymore.
If you found her dead and so selfishly,
Told her that she was selfish,
Because she'd rather be a memory,
Than a burden, than a toy, than an object.
Oh, but she's a shelved prize
So proud of her.
She keeps it all together.
For what?
For herself.
So I guess that's selfish too.
And, no.
His name is not carved into my arm,
His name is written there in red sharpie
To remind me that someone loves me
Enough to have me wear their ring
And miss them when they don't talk to me.
Does he miss me, like I miss him?
What if I just died?
Got struck dead, ran down by a car.
No, I don't really think you'd mind all that much.
You'd miss what?
My perfect grades?
My band?
The little silver lining of my creativity?
The way my voice wound around everything?
The way I tried to solve all these problems?
No, I don't cut.
I have bruises.
No, he didn't love me,
He kicked me in the teeth.
And, no, what I'm looking for isn't here at all.
I can't seem to find it anywhere.
So, what if I killed myself?
Would I really have died?
Or was I already dead.
Just a memory.
No longer a burden.
...
© 2013 - 2024 Natafin
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