I stare up at you, horrified.
You didn't want to chance it.
Your body hangs bloodied,
rope tightly around your neck.
The bloody razor blade fallen,
it now lays before my feet.
They say it's been hours,
since you took your final breath.
I know it was quite painful,
it couldn't have been not.
I fall to my knees and cry.
Why did you do this, why?
I thought you were over it,
you promised you wouldn't.
I should have know by now,
promises meant nothing to you.
I pick up the note you left,
my name printed clearly on it.
You would want me to read it,
I know that much is true.
I can't open this, not now.
Maybe in a few days I will,
but perhaps I never will.
I don't want to know anymore.
I always wanted to know,
to know what you thought.
But now, you hated me.
Why else would you do this?
You wanted me to see you,
to see your lifeless body.
You called me, invited me over.
And then you got them out,
that rope, and that blade.
You must have stolen them,
for I took yours away long ago.
I came right when you asked,
seven o'clock, six hours later.
Police surround the house,
rushing in, and rushing us out.
The paramedics come soon,
they cart your body away.
I still stand there, watching.
Your sister gives me a hug,
she tells me it will be alright.
She's been crying, I can tell.
I want to cry, but I can't.
The blade in my pocket hurts,
both physically and mentally.
It cuts into my side, and I bleed.
That doesn't bother me now,
it cuts into my heart much more.
For while you did I wanted to do,
now I know, I didn't want this.