I'm Jaded Now
Look In My Eyes
She's been dead for almost a year now. It feels like only last night Dia was sitting with me sharing her questionable perspective of anything she wanted to tell me about. I was the only one Dia shared her mind with. No one else saw her the way I did. They didn't want to understand her.
"Say we were to all die tonight. Would you be alright with that?"
"I'm not sure. I guess I would be, but I'm still not sure." I answered twirling my finger through her long black hair.
She turned around and looked at me lost in thoughts. "I wouldn't be content with the thought. There's only so much time to get lost in what you're doing, and there's so many things I haven't tried yet. I couldn't die tonight."
Dia hadn't had much innocence. She's try anything she could get a grasp on, and go for anything she wanted. She told me what it feels like to get high; what it's like to have a hangover. She was only 17, but she'd put herself through enough to tell the stories of a rock star out of rehab.
On that last night I'd see her and we talked about death, she told me she was going out to drink. I didn't think too much of it and let her leave me sitting in my screen room. Dia knew when enough was enough. I trusted her with everything.
That night, I was shown wrong. The next morning when Dia hadn't called me to tell me about what went on and how she was feeling about it, I got in my car and drove down to the bar she likes to go to. After parking, I lurked around the back roads around where I thought she might be not expecting to find her.
A few more minutes went by, and I turned down yet another dirty alley. A person covered in blood stained black cloth was slumped against the wall hardly moving. If I didn't have the knowing it was probably be her, I'd call the police and run away, but I knew her all to well.
She took her last breath as I started walking down to her, and before I could say anything, she was gone. Her body was horrible lacerated; the beautiful tattoos she wore with pride were just colors on her skin stained with blood.
Dia was murdered.
---<3---
It's these times I lay here at night thinking about her is when I needed her. I've never wanted more than to have her back. It's slowly killing me to know she'll never come running to me and crash into my arms.
I refuse to tell anyone about anything anymore aside from one person. Dia's murderer. Every other day, I drag myself to the local prison, and we talk. Not about what happened or ourselves. We talk about Dia. She was the kind of person you'd be blown away by if you got a chance to get inside her mind.
I leave crying every time, but I still feel like I haven't lost her yet. She's still mine.
"Say we were to all die tonight. Would you be alright with that?"
"I'm not sure. I guess I would be, but I'm still not sure." I answered twirling my finger through her long black hair.
She turned around and looked at me lost in thoughts. "I wouldn't be content with the thought. There's only so much time to get lost in what you're doing, and there's so many things I haven't tried yet. I couldn't die tonight."
Dia hadn't had much innocence. She's try anything she could get a grasp on, and go for anything she wanted. She told me what it feels like to get high; what it's like to have a hangover. She was only 17, but she'd put herself through enough to tell the stories of a rock star out of rehab.
On that last night I'd see her and we talked about death, she told me she was going out to drink. I didn't think too much of it and let her leave me sitting in my screen room. Dia knew when enough was enough. I trusted her with everything.
That night, I was shown wrong. The next morning when Dia hadn't called me to tell me about what went on and how she was feeling about it, I got in my car and drove down to the bar she likes to go to. After parking, I lurked around the back roads around where I thought she might be not expecting to find her.
A few more minutes went by, and I turned down yet another dirty alley. A person covered in blood stained black cloth was slumped against the wall hardly moving. If I didn't have the knowing it was probably be her, I'd call the police and run away, but I knew her all to well.
She took her last breath as I started walking down to her, and before I could say anything, she was gone. Her body was horrible lacerated; the beautiful tattoos she wore with pride were just colors on her skin stained with blood.
Dia was murdered.
---<3---
It's these times I lay here at night thinking about her is when I needed her. I've never wanted more than to have her back. It's slowly killing me to know she'll never come running to me and crash into my arms.
I refuse to tell anyone about anything anymore aside from one person. Dia's murderer. Every other day, I drag myself to the local prison, and we talk. Not about what happened or ourselves. We talk about Dia. She was the kind of person you'd be blown away by if you got a chance to get inside her mind.
I leave crying every time, but I still feel like I haven't lost her yet. She's still mine.