He’s sitting at his desk, half-dead, his bloodshot eyes half-closed,
He’s thinking he’d be better dead, his features uncomposed.
She’s closing the door silently, trying hard not to be heard,
It really wouldn’t do if an “accident” occurred.
He’s lifting up his head, but now- he’s dropping off to sleep,
Too weary now to even see, for if he did he’d weep.
She’s closed the door, approaches him, slips something in his drink,
Exits, sighs, and listens to him breathing out of sync.
He shifts, he stirs, opens his eyes, and lifting up his cup,
He takes a sip and hopes that this will truly wake him up.
She stands outside the doorway, listening out for who knows what,
She feels the guilt of what she’s done twisting in her gut.
He feels the poison flowing through his veins, of that he’s sure,
He takes a final breath, his glass slips, tumbling to the floor.
She hears the crash, and sobbing, she softly turns away,
Not knowing how without him she can take another day.
She takes a breath and turning, she walks into the room,
She just makes out a message on his desk left in the gloom.
“Thankyou, my sweet daughter, for you took away my pain.”
She smiles, and softly exits, to face the world again.

Sian Kyle

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/flashbacks-2/