reliving - re-life

I've tried so many times to tell them.
But they wont listen.
I know they all care, but ignoring me won't help.

I stand in the doorway, watching my brother pack up his clothes.
Bloodshot eyes, tired from crying.
I move over to the next room,
My dad rocking back and forth on the bed his head in his hands,
Taking a deep breath I open the bathroom door,
my mothers perfect pale skin still soaking in the bath.
Her eyes glazed over.
Her soft pale lips pursed softly,
dipping my hand into the water I blew at the few bubbles left.

I could almost see the same happy smile I used to.

Shuddering at the change in atmosphere I walked out of the bathroom, down the staircase and towards the front door.
With hesitation I pulled open the ice-cold door handle,
only to see my room again.
Right back where I started.

Trudging into my room I glanced over at the small object on my vanity table.
This is just the same old routine I went through.
Every year.
Every day.
The same old emotions,
The same old pain

I don’t remember my laughter.
I don’t remember my life,

Each day I'm shown the day that I died,
Each day I see the result of being bullied.
My mother died like me.
Only because of the message I wrote.
On the wall,
In blood,

My blood.

I try to tell them I'm ok.
I try to see my mother.

But the fire inside stops me moving.
I'm trapped.
Reliving my death each day.

Still life seems more painful.