She sent photographs of herself months ago
Nothing was written on it; just a couple of photos
But the wires on her head said she was in a hospital
Her uneven shoulders rested in the bed
Her face lifted by her smile, so beautiful and always gentle
In another photo she seemed to be in pain from the medication
But no sign of grief or defeat or suicidal intentions
All I could think is she’s a goddess and she’ll never have to die
unlike us filthy mortals scraping for love in dark alleys of this hell
My one and only ache that vanquished my heart
I wish to reply but only a mum white screen of nudity staring me in the eye:
What does she want to hear?
I no longer know if I have anything to say. Clicked delete.
I can’t save her.