Roses

I sit in the white porcelain, writing.

I allow red to drip, making roses on the snowy surface

I feel:

Relief. As if every weight I have ever felt has been lifted.

Mommy, Daddy, this is not your fault.

Dearest sister, don’t follow after me.

This world was not meant for me, and not I for it.

Do not grieve for me, for soon I will be singing.

I will watch with a smile from above

As you continue living the life you were meant.

I must go now, I see more roses blooming.

I finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Do not grieve for me, for I am finally happy.

This poem is about: 
Me

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