TITLE: THE DAY
On the day you hung yourself to the brown ceiling fan in that room,
you became a story of sad memories,
You became the fuel igniting the fire cooking sorrow
in the heart of your friends and family
Since that day you architectured your death,
everyday of my life has become a child soaked in fear,
that room had become a sin city where no one enters,
and to your mother,
the world is now a city rejecting her existence.
You didn't attempt a call for help
so depression consumed your courage till you were left with hope of zero magnitude
even though I can't really tell what your heart might have went through
nor do I know how much fear might have gripped your body
I just wish you turned back to see hope
before you decided to make that afternoon become a dark night painted in sorrow.