good night, holly. [now you lay me down to sleep.]

4/21/10.

it felt like a hand was around my throat,
because my heart was racing
and felt like it was slowly making its way
into my tightly-clenched mouth.
i knew that as soon as my hand turned your
doorknob, my entire life would
change. i was so pressed for time, but it seemed
i couldn't make my body move.
finally, i turned the knob, and the door creaked.

it felt like a hand was around my throat,
as the shock of the scene invaded
the deepest part of my mind. the stark contrast
between the white tile and the red
you were leaking assaulted my eyes, and a scream
managed to slip through the fingertips
pressed so damn hard against my lips and teeth.
little streams of you pooled everywhere,
stained what seemed like every surface of the small room.

it felt like a hand was around my throat;
crimson sliding down the drain
of the sink i had sat in just days before,
traces of it on the mirror i had
been pressed against in some fit of passion.
i traced it with my eyes, and it
lead to your thin body sprawled across the floor.
i knew i had to check for a pulse,
but i couldn't because your wrists were slit.

it felt like a hand was around my throat,
as i reached for you[r body?],
not sure whether or not i would be greeted
with you, or what was left of you
after your [final?] cry for attention. after i
checked your body, i realized that
this wasn't the last time, and sadly felt relieved
that you could live to do this to me again.
you had managed to survive, i had arrived in time.

it felt like a hand was around my throat,
as  i debate whether mixing
prozac with yet another xanax would be a bad idea.
i pace in the waiting room of
the intensive care unit, wondering when i will
get to see you again. they're
taking you away from me this time. in all
honesty, i think you could use
the vacation, even if i don't want it to be from me.

it felt like a hand was around my throat,
as i looked in your green eyes
filled with saltwater oceans of regret. i hope
this time it'll make you think twice,
before you attempt your final runaway once again.
something about daily life is smothering
the fire behind your eyes, and i know you have to leave.
i guess the question persists, wondering
if the reason you're doing all of this is because of me.

it felt like a hand was around my throat,
a few months later when i
laid the rose on your casket. i guess not even
xanax, prozac, elavil,
endorphins, acoustic guitars, your sister [or me]
could keep you here.
i guess none of it was worth it. not to you. so
this time, the hand around my throat
reached in, shut off my valves, and laid me down to sleep.

good night, holly.