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Before suicide

It is burned into my memory, and I cannot forget, your cold and limp body.
The same body that warmed and comforted me

It is burned into my memory, and I cannot forget, the tears shed by your family and friends. Some cry of obligation and others, such as your mother, who cries the loudest because her baby is gone.

It is burned into my memory, and I cannot forget, the two types of people who left that day. The people who will forget your kindness, intelligence, beauty, and even your name, and the people who will never recover from your absence.

It is burned into my memory, and I cannot forget, the words that fired from their mouths, loud and blind to the scars they left behind. They were only words, words that you believed so much that they became reality.

It is burned into my memory, and I cannot forget, how you slipped stealthy like a cat from the public eye. Instead of confiding in me, you turned to liquid poison and your sharp little friends.

It is burned into my memory, and I cannot forget, how you wanted my love and needed my voice. My first mistake was giving you what you wanted and not what you needed.

It is burned into my memory, and I cannot forget, the last words spoken from your pink lips. "Thank you," was not a courtesy, but a goodbye.

It is burned into my memory, and I cannot forget, that I had lost you long before you took your last breath in your lake of misery. As the water climbed up your thighs and settled at your neck, I can only hope you were at peace.

It is burned into my memory, and I will never forget, the knife I was in your gun fight. The words I wish I had spoken, my voice, or lack thereof, is what killed you.

-- Joslyn M., 9th-12th Grade