Would you?The telltale knock on my door was all I really needed to know it was you. You didn't have to talk or say a word. I recognized your knock. I stared over from the window, looking at the door and wondering if you'd knock again. I couldn't decide if I wanted you to or not. After all, this argument was your fault. Neither of us could deny that now. I had to wonder if that was why you were here. I thought it might be some romance novel ending where you'd knock on the door and we'd cry and laugh and come back together stronger than we were before.
The rest of me knew that romance didn't really work that way. There were some things that could not be forgiven. People kept telling me that it was worth letting you back in if I was really happy. That was supposed to make me wonder about whether or not I was happier with or without you. All it really did was remind me that I wasn't happy either way. When you were here, it was nothing but interspersed peace among the violent arguments and the smashe
Trial and ErrorHow would you react if I told you the truth?
The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth
As I stand here on trial for attempted suicide.
I am both murderer and victim;
I am the one being locked up in medications,
And the one they constantly try to compensate,
But that they never truly can.
If I were to tell you the whole truth, who would you prosecute?
Would it be yourselves?
The ones who stared depression in the face and labeled it attention?
The ones who stared "help me" in the face and ignored it?
The ones who took a struggling girl and wrapped her up in placation.
Would it be me?
The one who stared her reflection in the face and could not see beauty?
The one who stared herself in the eye and took pills in the mouth?
The murderer, or the victim?
What is my sentence, aside from medicines and plastic compliments?
How long before you will forgive me for the murder I couldn't commit?
How long before you look at motive before action?
How long before you let me forgive myself?