Can't Be Gone

 Some do it for the enjoyment but

Don't mind her

Somehow she manages to always do it for the attention

This was her mother's initial reaction when she told her about her depression

If only mother had paid more attention

She might have been able to help her win the war but

Here she was

Screaming at the top of her lungs

Like a pressure cooker with a loose knob

No!!!! No!!! No!!!

She can't be gone

I took her to church

Expecting the demons to flee,  fly, run

I always thought she just loved to talk; emotional blackmail and all

She can't be gone, she can't be gone; like a chant, mother went on

As guilt and grief overpowered her

Attention!!! Attention!!!

Proper medical attention would have changed the narrative of it all

(Maybe a little extra attention other than prayer would have changed the narrative of it all)

You don't just pray away depression

It's not a sign you've strayed from the presence of God

                                 theconflictedwriter

40 SECONDS

They will always see privilege when they look at her

Somehow her reality is lost in a lie

One that doesn't let her cry

I mean why else would she lie in bed, gun in hand, blades in mind.

Yet Christ already died so she can't no matter how hard she tries or the number of knots around her neck she ties

The cost of yes

Drowning in fears

Voices intense

Yet, Jesus is near?

No one else seems to hear the wailing child in her ear, they claim it's all in her head

Get some help!!!

The doctors gave pills; the pastor gave passages

Yet my life passes like a leaf on a stream with no ripple effect

I speak but I'm not heard

Tears trickling like the blood from Jesus's wounds on Calvary, yet unseen

Cursed is the man that hangeth on a tree?

To be like Jesus do I just hang me

Body swinging like a chandelier as a eulogy to those lost in the battles in our head

as an act of rebellion for lost tears,as an act of bravery and proof of no regret

As a message to my mother "jokes on you, I wasn't kidding when I spoke about death", it wasn't attention-seeking on my end

As proof that freedom lies only in death

As a piece of art that even Picasso couldn't contend

Created to impress

Signature cuts on her tights; iron crest on her neck

(Blood's ink emptied the demons finally let her rest)

As 1 in every 40 seconds whom suicides sweep from the earth

                                                                            

                                                                                                                      The Conflicted Writer