I woke up one day,
and knew something was wrong.
Like something was missing.
I got up and looked down at my stolen boxers and guy shirt.
I threw on a zip up hoodie
and ran out my front door.
My bare feet pounding,
I ran faster then I ever thought I could down that highway for three miles.
Then all the way up those stairs and threw open her door.
Everything was in order, organized and sorted.
Like it always was.
But something was wrong.
Too clean was her little crowded room.
Her notebooks were all sitting on her bed
and a folder sitting underneath them
filled with poems on random sheets of paper.
One was even on a napkin!
But, on top of those and slanted to the right
was her knife.
And the handle in the left corner of the notebook.
The one she had used for so many years.
I flew down the stairs on silent feet leaving the door ajar.
Where was everyone?
The house was completely empty.
And everything was TOO clean.
I ran out the door and passed the empty clothes rack.
This wasn't right.
They always had clothes drying there in the summer.
And down the grassy little hill filled with small purple violets
and other little flowers that grew in their yard
before they mowed.
And there she was.
In a pair of capris rolled up a little at the ends
so that it would come to just below her knees.
And a pretty white tee that had tattoo designs all over it
and the word Freedom in the middle across her chest.
But it wasn't right.
Her body was pure white and beautiful.
Until you came to her wrists.
There were three deep gashes
on each wrist.
I knew that if you looked REAL closely
and listened hard enough
you would hear her talking.
She always blamed herself.
I also knew,
if I looked on the back of her neck
I would see the Chinese symbol for death.
and on her left ankle the symbol for flower.
But on her right ankle.
Would be a tattoo of a pretty anklet
with barb wire in the place of string.
and four jewels hanging from it.
Her own design, the one she wanted ever since she was twelve.
Her mom, two brothers, and her sister.
Which she had done,
right before she decided to commit suicide.
But on her lips
was a butterfly.
Perched there as if kissing her good-bye.
I heard the softest whisper
as if spoken on the lazy wings of a butterfly
was her voice.
I love you, never forget that I'm here.
There on her chest a note had just appeared.
Read the next Suicide Note And Butterfly Kisses to see what happens.
Love, Heart of Ice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem