3

//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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