I'm sorry, I don't mean to be cliche

I know you never were

But I have to know...how did they find you?

Was it like the movies, where the loving, distraught parents find the girl hanging from the surprisingly sturdy ceiling fan, her face pale and made-up to look like it's bruised from the sparkly green belt wrapped around her throat?

Or was it like reality, where the girl has blood running from her nose and mouth, with fingernail marks on her neck from where she tried to let herself down when she felt the end coming, and the indifferent parents who only find her because of the smell?

I'm sorry, I don't mean to be cliche

God knows you never were

But I have to know...when did they find you?

Was it at 3am, when your alcoholic mother was feeling sentimental and decided to check in on you, and the moonlight lit up your dead, cold face and made everything dramatic? 

Or was it at four past eight, when the sunlight slanted through the slats in your blinds and hit your pillow, when the birds were chirping outside and Dad came to wake you up for school?

I'm sorry, I don't mean to be cliche

Everyone knows you never were

But I have to know...why are you dead?

Is it because you were heartbroken and romantically lonely and the burden became too much for you to bear and nobody saw through your mask of humor?

Or is it because you were sad and desperately alone and you were so f***ing tired of life and everyone saw the signs, except no one cared enough?

I'm sorry, I don't mean to be cliche

But you must know...

I miss you.