I was working the suicide hotline
that Friday night her call came in.
She sounded hyped up, frantic,
toying with the ultimate sin.

Her boyfriend had just left her
and she had no cash for the rent.
In the background a baby was crying,
The last of her patience long spent.

She rambled about her existence
as I passed a note to an aide.
When she told me how much she had taken
It was the first time in years that I prayed.

Blue angels with sirens were coming
for the girl with the tracks on her arms.
She increasingly grew incoherent,
Then, silence, I knew she was gone.

That weekend, I read in the paper
How an “Accident” claimed her young life.
A pretty brunette, about twenty,
all done with life’s struggle and strife.


That Tuesday, I stood in the distance
as the hearse brought that girl to her grave.
I wept then, overcome with sorrow,
for the young life that I failed to save.
.