A call for help
The drugs in her system that were once in a bottle,
Slowly dissolving.
The significant amount of fear.
Yet. I find the will to say, “Have no fear.”
The spark in her swollen eyes start to fade.
“It was just for the rush” she whispers.
Her pale hands grew colder by the second.
Her boney body shakes.

The light from help glares like chasing Christmas lights in the winter.
The doctors waltz in.
She’s put into the hands of people who do not know.

“It’s just for the rush, she whispers in weakness.
They don’t hear her. For they do not know.
She grips my wrist slightly.
Power was limited in her.
“Was it enough? She sobs.

They don’t know. They don’t know.
The feeling of life rushes through her once more.
“It was just for the rush.”

The sound of death fills the atmosphere.
Doctor’s lips move.
Sound comes out, but I can’t seem to catch it.
I stare at her and I know.
The moonlight beams through the window onto the rolling crystals down my face.

The doctors did not know.
They didn’t know it was just for a rush.
To feel acceptable. Just once.
To feel free from the piercing cries, and words said to her implanted into her brain.
From pressure to be just like them.
From the laughter replaying over and over like a broken record.

From scars marked into her skin.
They didn’t know her story.
They didn’t know that this isn’t what she wanted.
“It was just for the rush.”