A short poem. April's POV. About why she died. How she died. Her thoughts.
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I tried to kill the pain,
But my cuts merely brought more.
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I sat alone,
Pouring crimson and pain onto a cold tile floor.
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I was dying then and there,
Going to hell of that I was aware.
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Isn't God there? Can't He save me?
When I need Him most where can He be?
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"My God, My tourniquet"
Give me back my life and the drugs I will quit.
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I knew this was a lie,
But I needed to feel better inside.
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I cut deeper,
And death came nearer.
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I knew all pain would soon end,
as soon as the blade could no longer bend.
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Soon enough, I'm dead and gone.
And I watch over my dead body as time goes on.
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Hours later, Roger, you came home.
I watched you open the door of chrome.
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Then you saw me,
Dead as could be.
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Blood all over my face and feet,
Then you knew never again would me meet.
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You found the paper on the floor,
Telling of our AIDS, this was why I walked out the door.
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I killed myself, for you see,
I was very afraid of the death to be.
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AIDS scared me out of my mind,
And that's why you came home to this horrible find.
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Please forgive me, I won't be home again.
Please forgive me, the pain had to end.
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