Nicole Johnson

She doesn’t belong here.
She doesn’t belong anywhere.
The poison has called her name again.
Holding them in the palm of her hand, she thinks of clever ways to disappear.
Remembering the first time she tried to say goodbye; it was a failed attempt, but a part of her was too scared to repent.
A rushed sense of comfort came through helping hands as the life fluttered in and out of consciousness.
Tired of being told what to do.
Tired of being told how to feel.
Let these words sink in, these skeletons trump yours so take a seat and listen.
No one cares about the distress that consumes her
The world may continue to spin, but she will not join in.
Leaving here the same way she entered—
With nothing but a name on a picture.