My suicidal cure (Part2)

Sixth sense

Standing still,

Looking quietly upon a scene.

Cannot help but feel,

Something is out of place.

In the bath, floating in blood,

Is the body of a young woman.

She seems as if she is asleep.

Peaceful.

Serene.

Content.

Yet she is all but...

Twelve lines,

Six per wrist,

Precisely cut,

All have found veins.

She is most definitely a cutter,

But she cuts across,

Not with...

Yet...the professionals,

Swear it is suicide...

My gut says otherwise.

Sleeping pills,

In abundance,

Lay strewn across her bed.

... I need to think,

Clear my head,

The stench of death,

Claws at my nose.

So pretty,

But her diary screams otherwise,

Poor misguided soul,

Believed malicious lies,

Brewed by others,

Allowed her self esteem to crumble.

To neat,

To tidy,

I can feel the wrongness!

How to change the mind of others?

Passively watch the children,

As they go to school,

They too could be like her,

You just do not know.

She did hurt herself,

Yet...it just seems wrong.

Turn and watch,

As the body is wheeled away,

Nagging doubt...

Some dark presence,

Has had a hand in this.

I shall delve a bit into this.

Suicide...my arse!