This is my best friends final poem.
I found it in her journal.

I cry under the weeping willow
in my favorite park.
Under the weeping willow
everything seems dark.

Under the leaves and
under the branches I feel
not dead, not alive,
but real.

The weeping willow
holds me while I cry,
it protects me,
it whispers "it's okay to die."

I lean against its trunk,
bring the blade to my wrist.
I make myself bleed
with a slash and a twist.

The setting sun peeks
though the branches and leaves.
The weeping willow sees my pain
and for me, he grieves.

I cut and I bleed,
I cut and I slash.
It begins to rain,
the thunder coming with a crash.

I begin to cry,
the weeping willow beings to weep.
My final night
the willow shall keep.

The lightning comes,
it strikes my soul.
I die in peace,
the lightning playing it's role.

Resting now,
I sleep for good.
I sleep under
my weeping willow hood.

RIP Mariah.
I love you.