He’s sitting at his desk, half-dead, his bloodshot eyes half-closed, <br />He’s thinking he’d be better dead, his features uncomposed. <br />She’s closing the door silently, trying hard not to be heard, <br />It really wouldn’t do if an “accident” occurred. <br />He’s lifting up his head, but now- he’s dropping off to sleep, <br />Too weary now to even see, for if he did he’d weep. <br />She’s closed the door, approaches him, slips something in his drink, <br />Exits, sighs, and listens to him breathing out of sync. <br />He shifts, he stirs, opens his eyes, and lifting up his cup, <br />He takes a sip and hopes that this will truly wake him up. <br />She stands outside the doorway, listening out for who knows what, <br />She feels the guilt of what she’s done twisting in her gut. <br />He feels the poison flowing through his veins, of that he’s sure, <br />He takes a final breath, his glass slips, tumbling to the floor. <br />She hears the crash, and sobbing, she softly turns away, <br />Not knowing how without him she can take another day. <br />She takes a breath and turning, she walks into the room, <br />She just makes out a message on his desk left in the gloom. <br />“Thankyou, my sweet daughter, for you took away my pain.” <br />She smiles, and softly exits, to face the world again.<br /><br />Sian Kyle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/flashbacks-2/
