Depressed

She lies on the couch,
Looking as peaceful as can be.
Not knowing the damage,
That she soon will see.

She had wished and hoped,
For someone to come,
To take her pains away,
And make her feel numb.

But since no one had come,
And no one had cared.
She decided to do something,
That was already prepared.

A bottle of wine,
Held tied in her hand.
She lied there unconscious,
In a complete different land.

Cuts on her wrists,
Waiting to fall.
If only she hadn't gotton,
That one last call.

The wine glasses sat there,
With a little amount of wine.
Spillage on the table.
Now she lied there so fine.

The newspaper was opened
And looked at by one.
What was circled on it?
The death of a son.

I wrote this poem for my class... tell me what you think.