Locked up inside her head,
Thinking herself dead–
Pining for things left unsaid;
Torn pieces of might-have-beens,
Piling up on her empty bed.
It’s too convenient to end it
And make them all believe
That she didn’t make it;
It’s too easy to simply sleep
And drown in the lunacy
That holds her, forever adrift–
And yet, another voice demands
That she doesn’t leap.

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