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