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Rated: 18+ · Other · Emotional · #1817042
helping a suicidal friend can leave you with a result that what you were expecting
You look at me with a broken spirit.
When I ask how you are, you say you're okay.
Do not fake it anymore.
Please speak more than a few words to be.
I do not want you to go through this alone.

Each day, I come to see you.
Strands of hair lay in every direction on your hand.
You do not smile at me.
Whenever you speak, I notice that your breathe stinks.
There are spotches of dirt on your shirt that I swear I thought I saw yesterday.

Today, I see you sprawled out on the floor.
Immediately, I run over to you.
I lend you my hand to help you up.
You grasp it and accidently pull me down.
You look terrible.

I wince when I realize that you started to do it again.
Why can't you get over that bitch?
All she did was cause you harm.
You lean on me as I bring you to the couch.

"You are going to lose your life if you keep doing this," I say.
I hand paper towels to you to dry up the blood on your arms.
"Thank you," you reply.

I want to give you a hug and say that you will be okay.
But, I know that right now you do not want that.
You would rather be left alone.
I hate that an amazing guy like you has to suffer.

"I will be back here the same tomorrow"
"Stay strong, and remember please do not cry," I whisper.

You respond, "I know, you say that every time you are here."

The next day, I knock on the door.
No response...
I know I do not usually get one.
I open the door slowly.
I could not believe what I saw.

Your body, cold and lifeless, is not even four feet from the door.

"NO! NO!" I screamed.

I closed the door behind me and rushed to you.
No longer afraid, I throw myself to the ground.
I hold you in my arms trying to see if you are, what I think you are.

No pulse.
No heartbeat.
No sigh of relief.
No goodbye to me.

Why did you do this?
I put my cheek next to yours.
There is a knife injected into your heart.
I cannot bring myself to take it out.
Breathing heavily, I detach myself from you.

I grab a rag and wet it with water.
I also grabbed bandages.
I have to save you.
On the couch, I see a note.
I take it and rush back to you.

I try to save you.
But, it is too late.
Tears are about to come out of my eyes.
I am about to lose it.
Grabbing your limp hand,
I read the letter.

It said,

Dear Mist,

I am sorry that I did not try hard enough. I am sorry. Please forgive me.



PS. Stay strong. Please do not cry.
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