A poem written by a friend of a (Frum) girl that OD'd (on Heroin) this week. Nebach.
Dear heroin,
This time I wont go to the funeral.
This time I wont hear how she was an angel that left us too soon.
This time I wont let myself feel.
If I allow myself to feel it will become too real.
This time I will get angry.
This time I will question.
I will make room for the anger in my heart.
It feels more comfortable in there than the truth.
The truth can't get me anywhere anyways.
What can you possibly tell me that can justify taking someone barely old enough to make decisions on her own?
You decided for her. You sealed her fate without her even having a say.
You whisked her away with the promise of a beautiful romance
You whispered words of comfort while slowly peeling her life away.
Why did you let her take you in her arms and hold you close
When all the while you intended on getting close enough to hurt her.
She turned to you as a heroine in her darkest moment, expecting you to save her like she was taught you would.
You blinded her with promises of momentary bliss
You deceived her with your innocent name
This time I wont go to the funeral.
This time I wont hear how she was an angel that left us too soon.
This time I wont let myself feel, feeling are overrated anyways.
Wasn't that your favorite part?
When you let her fall into a state of surrender,
completely numb and oblivious to her existence?
When you bribed her with a false sense of freedom...
...You always made the freedom look so beautiful.
Your name was spoken in the last 12 hours enough for a lifetime.
Enough to make up for all the names that go unmentioned, all those identities you strip.
Your name tastes like salt on my tongue.
Your name sounds like a curse out of hell.
Its ironic because we learn that you save the day.
I knew your name as someone I can look up to.
I wanted to be just like you.
Growing up you end up learning that sometimes the heroine isn't the savior
You didn't have any mercy, you usually don't.
Oh the irony