Argyle Neckties

She tucks her hair behind her ear, She feels them glare, She feels them stare, She hears the laughter echo near. The whispers fall like waterfalls, Surrounding like the cold, black night. She clamps her eyes shut down the hall, And wonders, “Maybe they’re right.” At home, it will all continue, The berating will never cease. “You’re never good enough,” they argue. She sobs, “Please find me peace!” There’s comfort in control, To make it all end. To take it, will mean to patrol, Patrol surroundings, until the time will beckon. She sits alone in a room, Welled tears drop on crinkled paper. She is entombed. And no one can save her. She leaves the note upon the table. She looks up, she sighs. She writes the last sentence of her fable, And whispers, “This is how I die,” She ties the knot and hangs it high, So it may not come loose. Made out of her father’s old neckties, Is her homemade noose. She kicks the chair, lightheaded, Her heartbeat is no longer felt. To think, this could have been avoided, If someone would have just helped.