Tiffany B.,
the shy girl,
the tall, slender one with the dark,
piercing eyes.
She walks alone,
guided by the light of the dark.

She was beauty,
she is beauty,
untouched and flawless,
with not a soul to appreciate it,
I did,
the one girl who everyone knows,
but only a few who will talk with her,
as she sits alone, slowly dying inside
as they walk on by,
not caring what they do to others,
not caring how much pain they cause.

Tiffany,
the girl who lives in that old, towering house,
on that road without a name,
with her sister and brother
and mother and father.
Tif,
the one who always loved 4-wheeling,
always looking for a new place to ride,
a place to hide from the evils of this world.

Tiffany died,
two words that cut my veins and left me to suffer,
slowly bleeding out onto the concrete floor with no one to help me,
two words that dropped me in acid,
and watched as I melted
into a puddle of worthless glop
without a purpose at all.

How dark be the reaper,
crushing,
incinerating hopes,
fears of death,
clawing at you from just below the surface,
cutting your skin into shreds,
bloody remains of the person you once were,
wishing with all of your strength that it could have been you.

How even those who disliked her
for her different ways,
showed up to pay their tarnished respects,
to a coffin as empty as their hearts,
how my own sister told me the wrong date
and then asked why I didn’t go,
how it sliced through her family and friends,
like a knife cutting the first piece of a birthday cake,
happy 15th birthday, Tif!
But it never happened,
the knife never cut,
the cake never baked,
and the year never reached,
as we all walk around,
taking life for granted.

Tiffany B.,
the girl who was different and didn’t care,
who saw things my way
and liked it,
the girl I loved,
and still do,
that tall, dark eyed girl who never got to wear that veil
or know the embrace of being a mother,
I remember her fondly,
with eyes that pierce the soul.
Rest in peace,
Tiffany Marie B.