I wanted her to live. I wanted to escape reality with her. To go somewhere peaceful. To find solace outside of the usual myriad of sounds and sights.
I wanted to take those little pills and find freedom like I always did, and so did she. So did she. So did she.
But there is no freedom, only a lack of personal imprisonment. It is ironic that our vision of "freedom" was enough to **** us. Poison. Pills. Little white pills. And a bottle of liquor to wash them down. To drown them.
So together we "escaped" reality's "prison" into the vast expanses of our hallucinations.
One more. Last one. Promise. **** that doubt and replace it with a little white pill.
Take a swig. Take a gulp. Take another. Let's make this crazy.
One more pill. Last one. I swear. Laugh with me. Drink with me.
Laugh with me.
Hey, hey, it will be fine, we're done. We're done. We're done so just relax. Float and fly, feel that high. Lay down and rest.
We should have stopped earlier.
We should have stopped earlier.
You know, we should have stopped earlier.
I am sorry. My bad.

So later comes and goes. She sits on the porch, smoking a cigarette. Smiles, all smiles. She is high, but she operates well.
I light a cigarette of my own.
I breathe in the smoke, let it coat my lungs. Watch it disappear as I exhale. She says something funny, and I laugh. She laughs, I laugh. It's hilarious.
She lives.
She lives.
She lives.
Unfortunately, that is a false reality. I give you the fake version to staunch the bleeding of insecurities and emotional detriment.
You see, I have mislead you. Fake. Fake. So fake, and how I wish it were not.
She never smoked that last cigarette. I guess to her, life was unimportant. Worthless. She was not seeking attention this time. She intentionally overdosed. She convulsed and died in front of me. I watched her swallow white after white and I didn't stop her. Her small framed body of innocence turned into an animal. Neglected, starved of love.
She is dead.
She is dead.
She is dead.
She will never exist beyond my memories. Beyond my dreams. Beyond her phantom visits to my vision. I am being followed. Stalked. Haunted. Chased. Hunted for a guilt trip.
Later, it's blade to flesh. Bottle to lips. Bleeding, regretting, wishing, screaming.
Anger, self pity, despair, depression, descent.
Cornered, frightened, spiraling into madness.
Welcome. It is with great pleasure that I invite you into my life.