The Suicide of a Gifted Child.

She woke up in the mornings and wiped the mascara from her face.

Start fresh.

She forces makeup to her skin, tissues under her eyes so it doesn’t run.

She lifts something vile to her lips,

She takes a puff.

Be careful they said,

She ignored them and

Breathed in what she was smart enough to know she shouldn’t.

She tried to quit

She couldn’t.

I won’t get addicted,

She said.

She avoids bread.

I won’t get addicted

She said

As she inflicted

Self hatred on her thighs

That weren’t small enough.

Lifted them off the chair

She took it far enough.

To the point where she’d shake,

Exhausted from the suspension.

Breaking from the tension.

But suspension didn’t work

And pills only became a craving.

Cutting had a kick

But drugs were ever-saving.

Ever destroying.

It made her sick.

Sick of herself, and her lies, and her body.

Sick of shaking in the bathroom,

Cold and bloody.

She screamed at the mirror

And cried during class

No one ever stopped to ask

Are you ok?

And that would’ve been enough.

But she had A’s and her room was clean.

Her makeup was neat.

Her clothes were straight.

Her hair was washed.

But then she picked up that...

Flavored air.

That’s what she called it. But who was she trying to convince?

She rotted her body, and rotted her mind

But she was always “fine.”

Until we found her letter.

And her, with her skinny wrists all minced.