She drove up the hill
To the building she grew up in
Cars were everywhere
With sirens going off

She walked up to the yellow tape
And saw the black words:
Crime Scene

Tears started to run down her cheek
Fear through her body,
and her veins,

As she clenched onto the tape,
A man in uniform came up to her.
"She's gone. I'm sorry."

I'm sorry, the words she wished she told her mother.
Tear blurred her vision.
She knew shouldn't have left her.

She went to her car
She knew that her mom didn't kill herself.
She knew it was her condition that killed her.

She drove away until she reached a park.
Joyful memories of her mother came back to her.
Memories she wished she could relive.

But she was gone.
She reached for something that was inside her trunk
It was black like her world had become

She held it in her shaking hand.
She closed her eyes for the last time to say one last thing.
"Mom, bipolar is genetic."