One.

12:06 am.

She's all I have at the moment,
Just a friend who cares for a fragile death
Such as I.
She says things you said but I deny.
She says things that I need to hear but I weep.
I cannot breathe quite easily now.
I haven't for weeks.
And in this sick and gross pain,
I ask myself why I live again.
Why you of all people I kept myself alive for.
Why you of all men said those beautiful words
And then killed me.
Maybe she's right,
And you don't know how to make me happy
From so, so far away.
But just one little word would.
Any for this chaos to end.
My friend is asleep now.
She's all I had at the moment,
Now, what is left, is a sick little girl,
And her ink. Nothing more. Nothing less.