They announced it on Wednesday,
In our school’s old sweaty hall,
That a girl I had art with,
Wouldn’t be coming back at all,
You could hear all of the questions,
She was perfect wasn’t she?
What demons was she fighting,
That we all couldn’t see?
I sat in art that Wednesday,
Beside her now empty desk,
While our teacher warned us not to fail,
Our advancing test,
I remember she once said,
That she was envious of me,
My parents knew how much work it took,
Just to get a ‘B’,
I wish I had noticed earlier,
Or had the decency to ask,
Because her world must have been crashing,
Behind her “perfect student” mask,
And I wonder if on that tuesday,
It was the last thought in her brain,
That the only A+ she could give,
Was the blood type in her veins.