untitled poem/prose

Wake up feeling listless,
not knowing what to say .
She obliges to her weakness,
finds the blade she hid away. 

She is bound by a curse 
and she tries every night to pray.
Nothing worked; not  even a bible verse

So onto her bed she lays,
watching the charcoal burn,
ready for her last day. 


For once, she was taking control of her life. Just like that, she has concluded her life. 

They find her body, lifeless and cold. “Her wrists were bleeding,” their mother was told. The police with his pen and paper, asks if there was a suicide letter.

“No, nothing… We all thought she was getting better.” 

But now, all that doesn’t matter. No more pain; no more hurt. No more bleeding wrists, no more fear.  No more blades and no more tears. 



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