They announced it on a Monday,
in our school's old sweaty hall,
that a girl I had math with,
wasn't coming back at all.
You could hear the silent questions,
she was perfect wasn't she?
what demons was she fighting
that we were too blind to see?
I sat in math that Monday,
beside her now abandoned desk,
while our teacher told us not to fail,
our fast approaching test.
I remember she once whispered,
that she was envious of me,
my parent knew what it took,
just to get a simple "b", I wish I'd noticed earlier
or had the decency to ask, because the world must have been crumbling, behind her "perfect student" mask.
and I wonder if on that Sunday,
it was the last thought in her brain,
and the only A+ she could give,
was the blood type in her veins.