I left a letter.
Slipped it under the door.
I did not knock,
and I was careful to slip away
as I moved across the floor.

I knew I should have stopped,
I knew I should have turned around.
But my thumping heart
Drown out all the other sounds.
I’d thought about it so many times before,
How I should not be here on this porch
But something pulled me on
Like bugs toward a torch.
Lured toward their death
By attraction that has been wired
Into their system.
Their life soon to retire.

Every tinge of reason, silenced.
Every speck of logic, purged.
Every ****** of vindication
Has been suppressed within my nerves.
The writer has warned that if the note is not passed,
A public copy will be released,
And our next breath will be our last.

They didn’t need the burden that I know brought
The strain of pain and worry that the letter wrought.
I hardly knew these people,
In fact, we’ve never met.
I’ve only heard about them
From the letter I just sent.
Passed on from hand to hand
A secret to disclose
From the privet thoughts
Of a dead girl’s private notes.

Each of us part of her story that we will be told
Each of us not knowing what role we play in the letter we unfold.
No return address or name,
Other than your own.
But once you read the letter,
The sender you will know.
She tells us how each of us has lead to her demise.
How we’ve tainted her reputation with our actions and our lies.

The news will pass from hand to hand in the order they were wrote
By the pen of the deceased who, with purpose, scrawled this note.
Who knew such a simple act could snowball into harm,
That would lead a girl to swallow pills and cut into her arm.