I used to… live on the edge of a blade.
Wishing this pathetic, miserable, life of mine would just fade.
Parents divorced.
Love and hate I was forced.
You see, anger and hate in one house, peace but neglect in the other.
I couldn’t understand what I did to my father and mother.
My best friend, an angel, my hero.
She was an image, a mural.
She was strong, courageous, and fierce, fought every obstacle that was thrown at her.
Except, one day… she just, couldn’t take it I’ll always remember.
Walked in the house, floor slowly creaked with each step.
Knocked on her wooden, bedroom door,
Twisted that brass knob, but I lost my breath with what I saw on the floor.
I froze, my heart dropped, broken hearted.
Because she parted.
I was the first to know.
That she willingly took the blade to go.
Dropped to my knees beside her I yelled please.
I closed my eyes, hands to together, started to pray.
Wishing, that I had more time, just one more day.
I slid my hands on the back of her hair,
Lifted her head up, and kissed her on the cheek, searching for a sign of life.
But instead I held her close and stared at the bloody, stainless steel knife that took my best friend’s life.
Her hands cold, blood all around her body, I shook, and I shook her, but no use.
I wasn’t giving up, I refused.
I cried and I cried.
Knowing I’m the reason my best friend died.
I would’ve set her free,
I could’ve saved her; she would be alive with me.
But instead,
I left an innocent girl for dead.
I should’ve been there for her, in the end.
I was supposed to be a good friend.
The pain, the guilt, is on my conscience like a stain.
This is a scar that’ll remain.