So, my friend recently passed away due to suicide. And i wrote about her life and what based it off what she told me but its in a poem version:

This is a life of a whore,
whose legs are like an open door.
so therefore

her life really isn't a bore.
Everyday she's on the floor doing some kind of a chore
all it seems is shes always at war
Once again she opens her drawer,
draws out a knife and thinks about her life.
She thinks about her father and his wife
She looks at her journal hoping it would come to life
She sits and stares
but no one really tries and cares
she tries to hold her family together but everytime it just tears
she thinks of all her fathers affairs.
He brushes off his daughters repairs
she puts the knife to her wrist and she prepares
everyone is unaware
as she thinks 'nothing in life is fair'
she slices and blood is what she begins to wear
her life begins to slowly fade
no one knows so she can't recieve any aid.
She was no longer afraid.
So again she took the bloody blade
and she sliced her neck so her bones were displayed.

 

I miss her and i don't quite understand why she commited suicide, but honestly that doesn't really matter does it? She obviously wasn't happy and that's really the main reason why she left right?