Broken

I lay on the dirty floor,
Unsure of how I ended up here.
I try to sit up, look around me,
But can't seem to move.

I stare past the prescription bottle in my hands,
Where there was once a large mirror on the wall.
But it must have been moved because it's not my reflection I see.
It's a woman, broken beyond repair.

Her hair shining almost white in the sunlight,
Trickling in through the blinds.
Her simple grey dress soaked with sweat,
As she realizes just what she has done.

I watch this woman start to cry,
And reach my hand out to console her.
And she reaches out to me,
Begging for my sympathy.

My hand touches something cold,
It feels like glass under my fingertips.
But that can't be right, our hands our touching.
Why can't I feel the touch of this broken woman?

Something finally clicks,
I see the missing piece.
There is no broken woman in the room,
There is only me.

I pull my hand back,
Tears falling at an alarming rate.
I whisper my final goodbye,
Knowing it's too late.

"No one can save me now,
No one can pull me out of this sea.
This numbness I've sunken into,
That I've accepted so gratefully."

My last breath leaves my lips,
And the very last thing I see,
Is a simple glimpse at the beauty of death,
As it comes to claim me.