Wrist

I see you longing for death.
Like it’s a beautiful dress you long to own
To wear.

So you beg your mother to get you the dress.
Because you’re too little to get it yourself.

(I look down at my wrist.
Oh! It looks just like my mother’s)

Will you beg your mother to get you death?
If she got you the dress?

Or if she chose the dress for you?

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I wrote this poem for a friend of mine.

How do you try to help your friends in situations like this?

Share your thoughts in the comments section below 🙂