//a weekly series of short proses written in different perspectives//
*note: reference to suicide*
Her naked back faces mine in her darkest hour
The shoulder blades move as though it’s about to devour
But I can’t bear the sounds she makes as she cries
Or the way her hands shake as though they’re trying to fly.
I hate it the most when she says she wants to die
Because I can see and feel the pain in her eyes
So who am I to ask her to stay?
When no one knows each day the price she has to pay.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m begging to keep my guilt at bay
Or because I can’t bear the thought of not seeing her another day.
But I think I’ll never know the answer,
Just as she may always believe death to be the answer.
In her darkest hour,
I can only send gentle streams of power
And hope that it gives her a little more power.
So should she see the sun another day,
I pray to God that she will stay
At least, for one more day.
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