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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