I can't remember when you left,
It seems you were always leaving,
into the night, behind feathered trees,
and when the rain hit you,
you pretended you didn't feel anything
"I don't want to talk about my dad," you'd say
That unholy narcissist left bruises on you,
that you hid from us all
I wish you'd said your mother was a villain ,
who tried to send you to heaven,
but only succeeded in making you bleed;
a memory that resurfaced,
as the devil's stigmata,
on your wrists
You're the girl in a coma,
and have been since I met you,
who fell in love with her doctor,
the day she almost died
Her am I wondering,
are you alive?
Or are you a ghost,
haunting Christ Church,
continuing to do the only thing
that made you happy
I'm sorry you're gone,
your phone ringing out,
your profile a tombstone
I wish I could go,
go to your home
and ring your doorbell
without the fear of being told,
The girl in a coma has left,
not behind the trees,
into the dark,
but to the place her mother tried to send her,
not long after she took her first breath
