It's not my fault.

Those were her last words.

Her last words.

She was saving her own ass. As usual.

She knew she wasn't going to live past that day, yet she still chose her last words to be pathetic and cowardly, disgusting and spineless.

I wasn't going to let myself get in too deep.

Stupid excuses. She always had one of those in handy. Like a spare tire for her beaten up blue Volkswagen that she cherished more than her self-worth.

And no matter where she went, those excuses pelted her like acid rain in New York. Searing into her skin until she was used to the holes burning through her. It became somewhat of a norm for her. Why tell the truth when you have a filthy lie that's more interesting anyway? Ironically, it became rather like a wall around her. A shell, even. When she was scared, she retreated into it and all people could see were lies. Lies, disgusting lies. So then who was she trying to fool? Everyone saw through her translucent brain and the inner workings of her one dimensional mind. Who was she trying to fool here?

I'll tell you who: herself.

And she succeeded all too well.

Look, here she is, lying in the middle of a blank white room, surrounded by beeping machines monitoring her heart beat. Maybe the occasional doctor would step in to see her, but as far as anyone could tell, she was alone. All alone. Not one person she thought cared about her came to see her. She was all alone. Well, there was that pot and her friends that gave it to her. Her friends, she called them. We waddled around in diapers together and she calls those life-sucking fiends her friends because they gave her a bit of "fun." What am I? A worry-wart, she had called me.

I won't let myself get in too deep.

And now here she is.

Miss Popular.

Miss Beautiful.

Miss Perfect.

Miss Homecoming Queen.

Miss Friend to Everyone.

She had all the power. She stole everyone's hearts. She had all the power. And where did that power get her?

On a white sheet in a white room alone.

I'm standing in front of her and she can't even see me.

All alone.

And all she could do was point the finger at someone else.

The heart monitor stopped. Death's white fingers clutched her throat and gave one more squeeze.

She doesn't even have herself to blame anymore.

How far can the lies get you now?

You're all alone.