you're mad thinking you could ever save me.

May we be saved from evil thoughts and deed of enemies of world peace who find pleasure in creating havoc and perpetrating all forms of carnage.

- Yahya Jammeh

----------------

She sits in her room, 

a noose around her neck.

Her tear stained face,

the sunken eyes,

the hollowness in her eyes,

the swollen eye bags.

Her hand gripping the rope tightly,

she was no longer in contemplation.

She dropped the rope,

walked over to the bed

and lay there in silence,

and there, once again,

she was in contemplation,

questioning existence.

It was as if the bed was toxic,

she could not get up.

It became an addiction,

to crawl under the blanket,

and place the end of the rope close to her,

so no one could touch it.

She dared not trust anyone with it,

for the other end was tied around her neck.

She still had something to live for,

and she had something to live for.

But everyday something would happen,

all the responsibilities in her life.

Poof!

She would be dragged out of bed

onto the streets

by the end of the rope.

And the best part was,

she had to smile,

every single minute,

pretending it didn't hurt,

pretending she was fine,

pretending she was happy.

Whatever she says is wrong.

Whatever she tries to suggest is wrong.

Whatever she tries to feel, is wrong.

Whatever she is, is wrong.

--------

Oh, the irony.

The only way we be saved is when we kill our minds.

----------------

M.

not looking like that.