the bruised neck and the dangling rope
felt less painful
than the expectations wrapped around her.

the silver blade and the crimson fluid
shone more distinctly
than the dull stack of golden medallions.

the doctor's prescriptions?
oh, she took them.
but she had no time for prolonged treatment for she had her 'obligations'.
so she ingested them all in one go.

and for once,
she had received what she had sought
the honors,
the love,
the concern,
although she had wished she had received those
on a place without the black clothes and the pretentious words of preachers.

her only regret
was that she could not say:

doctors will always find people who need their care
and lawyers will always find people who need defenders for a fare

but when painters go without making a single stroke,
and when musicians leave without composing a single note

only then do we wonder
if the lives of those who fostered fake aspirations
were ever worth their parents' expectations