Velvet Sheets

The plush purple pillow you were holding to your mouth
didn’t keep the words in, and so it all spilled out,
How you thought every problem would be solved if you were dead,
and how a lost bullet should be found in your head.
The bands plastered on the walls, the scraps of old boyfriends,
the guitars sitting in a heap with strings frayed at the ends,
the clothes strangling the floor, the bottles by bedside,
should’ve warned away my help, but somehow I still tried-
I should have left that minute, should have made the call
let the sirens take you to the ward;
It might have saved us all.

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