In that Black Coffee

Staring into her coffee mug,
she looks around the room.
The sadness forced hug,
has all but made her loom.

She tried to make a family,
one in which was better.
she tried so hard to do it,
tried not to write her letter.

But today is the day,
she cannot resist.
its the day it is written,
the day to make list.

Shes nearing forty nine,
her life has amounted nothing,
a young women out of prime,
shes hidden all but 'something.'

Shes been so badly hurt.
by the man that comes home at four,
the teen and pre teen twins,
and her last, her baby sore.

She tried to make it work.
not repeat the past.
but in a sense of production,
all she did was last.

The final line is written,
her mug has gone so cold,
her life isn't worth living,
to take it away, shes bold.

With crying weak tears,
dotting i's, slashing T's,
her signature written,
done all in hopeless dark glee.

Her life is going to end,
the rope is noosed just right,
shes going to stand up tall,
and jump off in spite.

In spite of all she is,
her white flag waving,
going to cry some more,
she cannot do it craving.

Wanting to know why,
a question never asked,
shes no longer stubborn,
and ends her deadly task.

But like he said:

"My mother never knew another way to die than age, until we found her hanging."