Ode To Sylvia

I picture a person, Swinging side to side. With their head in a noose, A noose they once tied. She named the noose yesterday, Because that's what her life would be. Tomorrow didn't seem valid, That's all she could see. A little birdie told her, Two days before her doom. That she better not leave a note, And put fake words in her room. She wasn't sad, she wasn't glad, That her life was a waste. What upset her the most, Is that time can't choose a pace. It enraged her, that single thought. But it wasn't why she did it. Why she made it seem that tomorrow can't, Make her puzzle piece fit. She took her life simply because, The night before she had a dream. It was an empty room with knives, With messy walls painted cream. The room didn't have a door, No windows, and no windowsills. It echoed what she had thought, And it put her behind a grill. She woke up, and she told her mum, She told her dad, everyone she knew. The sky, the sun, the moon and stars, And suddenly her decreasing vision grew. When that had passed, she'd then decide She'd get a rope and end her life. The dream to her was where she belonged, So she jumped at the count of five.