• Be Glad It's A Dream-
    By Ashtii

    read her paper journals-
    just to see how she feels-
    how this life is wounding her-
    causing her to bleed crimson-
    she tried to write but the pen's ink is blood-
    the papers on the floor explain-
    but can they explain away the blood on the floor?-
    the scars on her wrists?-
    or the gun in her hand?-
    if someone had cared-
    would it have been different?-
    so many questions, caused by one death-
    is it possible to change my way of life?-
    i gaze at her body, and realize who it is-

    why am i lying on the floor, in a heap?-
    and why is there a gun in my hand?-
    i can't and won't believe that i gave up hope-
    i refuse to ask the questions running though my mind-
    the answers i know are true disturb me-
    should i deny the longing or call for help?-

    the tears run down my face as the truth sets in-
    i am gone to the world, no one can hear me-
    i am dead.-

    the song on the radio screams out at me-
    the phone is ringing and ringing-
    but i can't answer it, i can only stare at my body-
    it's still form, unmoving, and cold-
    with a single fragile teardrop still on my cheek-
    i beg for myself to move-
    willing myself to see-
    out of eyes that have turned to glass-
    why did i do it?-
    did i not realize all those who have loved me?-
    those whom my death would effect?-
    or could i just not take it anymore?-

    why am i lying on the floor, in a heap?-
    and why is there a gun in my hand?-
    i can't and won't believe that i gave up hope-
    i refuse to ask the questions running though my mind-
    the answers i know are true disturb me-
    should i deny the longing or call for help?-

    the tears run down my face as the truth sets in-
    i am gone to the world, no one can hear me-
    i am dead.