Her Book

She failed to understand the purpose
The truth, there was none
It was just a sick game they played
At the diner table that night she sat and spoke of the truth
Her parents consulted the school but it was of no use
“Stop looking for attention” they said as she suffered silently
Treatment now became worse as did the physical abuse
One night as she fell into the depths of her thoughts, she decided
Death was the only option, it was time to head for the exit
That night the clouds cried ,waves roared and the wind howled ferociously
And that innocent, guiltless child died
There she lay with a butchers knife stuck in her chest
Blood puddles on the covers and floorboards
It was all so clear now, she had stabbed herself
The gates of heaven opened as did her bedroom door
Her mother screamed and poured out buckets of tears
The angels of heaven gathered as did her family
Now they feel guilt with her blood permanently on their hands
While they read a piece of paper painted in red
“ Right now I’m slowly dying with a butcher’s knife in my chest
They called me names and punched me
Since you believed them so much you can ask them the rest
It’s not my fault it has come to this, I don’t want to die
Now as you stand mourning my demise I want you to know,
I …………”
Here the sentence was broken, because the pain had all come to an end
Life is like a paper back book
With it’s beginning, middle, and end
With its problems and solutions
With it’s tears which are extremely hard to mend
Here I have written passage, a part from her book
The part in which out of anger, fear and confusion
Her life she felt it was necessary, so she took

By Lena Arshad