When I was nine years old
my best friend died.
I didn't attend the funeral,
my mother did instead.
I cried because that's what your supposed to do.
Laying in the center of the room,
Labored breathing, clenched fist.

When I was thirteen years old
my best friend gave up on me.
She dismissed me like yesterdays news.
Sadness perched on my shoulder,
Lurked in every corner
of every room.
Stayed with me every night.
Wishing for tears but they disobliged.

I found comfort in the darkness,
faint music in the background.
No more Saturday nights creeping out,
only being crept on.
The blade's beginning  to whine.
Demons, demons come and play.
Red River Flood all over again.