Do you remember

the bedtime stories

you used to read?

I do.

But you don't, mommy.

The pills are killing you.

Do you remember me, mommy?

No, you don't.

Do you remember the lullaby

you used to sing to me

when I was a baby?

I do.

Is that what you're trying to forget?

The memories I hold so dearly?

Do you really hate me that much

that you'd try to forget me?

I know you hate life, mommy,

but ruining yourself isn't helping

you at all.

It's making it worse.

I know you think the pills are your family,

but they're really not.

We're your family.

Not the things that are helping you kill yourself.

Listen, mommy,

you know I love you,

and would do anything for you,

but I don't know you'd do the same.

I've asked you to stop trying

to kill yourself all the time.

But after we get done talking,

you take more pills and don't stop.

You don't realize

that I want to do the same.

I want to die too, mommy.

But you don't notice.

If you took your eyes

off of the bottle for one minute,

you'd notice the blade in my hand.

Maybe then you'd care.