She Will Be Strong

And she lays in bed 
Her broken soul 
Gazing out the window 
At the moon and the stars, 
Picturing the pocketknife 
Ever-present in her bedside drawer. 
She pictures drawing the line on her arm, 
The burning blade, 
The cool metal against her skin. 
But then she sees him, 
The worry, the concern, 
And she sees the pain 
In her friends' eyes. 
She will be strong. 
If not for herself, for him, for them.