Hello, goodbye.

A picture sits atop a pile of long -forgotten heartaches.
On a messy desk, in a room that was once her delight.
Two day's worth of laundry sits on the dirty floors.
The shades are drawn, embracing the room with night.

Her artwork, the teddy bears, everything has been turned to gray.
The joyous colors can't be seen from the little available light.
Her photographs, her treasure box, has been put away.
Everything that forms a memory is no longer in sight.

The only signs of life are the crumpled tissues,
And a pillow, wet from days of tears.
This room, once her favorite place to be,
Is now nothing more than the place used to escape her fears.

A tiny bit of blood dried on the side of a pristine sheet,
Is the main indicator of how bad things really are.
To her this room can still be seen as a retreat,
For she doesn't have to hide her scars.

Or her feelings, what she wants to say.
Everything comes out in a rush of hatred, guilt, and heartbreak.
Sometimes, things are smashed, and lie broken.
Like the fragments of her life, jagged, unfixable mistakes.

And there are times she cries with no clue why.
There's nothing to fight for but still she tries.
Because she wants to know, before she dies,
Why must every hello end in goodbye?