She never asked your opinion

She is there. Sitting at the corner of her room. All curled up. Sobbing. Swaying her body. Trying to hide all the sounds her sniffing makes. Trying to calm herself.

She is there. Alone. Again. Contemplating about her existence. "Why do I have a life?", she asked herself. "Why am I still living this life full of shits?" she asked again.

She is there. For the third time. Talking to the air as if someone is listening. Telling her most secret story.

She is there...

She is there...

She is there. Again and again. Wait... I can't even recall how many times I've seen her there. I don't even know why is she there. But she is there. And I can see her red puffed eyes. Witch-like hair. I can see her. And I can feel the pain she's feeling. I wanted to go near her. I wanted to comfort her. I wanted to tell her I'm just here for her. I wanted to. But I didn't.

She is there. At the corner of her room. No, she isn't sobbing. She isn't crying. She isn't wailing. In fact, she is so quiet. So quiet....

She is there. Rope tied up to her neck straight to the ceiling.

There is no blood. No cuts. No suicidal letters. No blaming. No red lipsticks on the wall or mirror. No tattoos. No pills. No drugs. No everything.

She is just there. Hanged up. Breath taken from her. She's cold. Pale. And yes, she's dead. No one she blamed but I know everyone contributed.