Atinuké.

Remember her pain, forget her name.

A self-centered narcissist, that's who she was.

She had no love, no respect, no hate whatsoever to give to anyone.

To the world, she was too expressive.

But to her, she couldn't even whisper the words the world desperately needed to hear.

Every part she took, every tune she played, every words she spoke.... nothing brought her joy.

On the night before her demise, she couldn't stop talking.

She couldn't stop yelling out the hurtful words that burned her tongue.

And to make it all stop — the hate, the pain, the falling — she slit her throat.

Soaked in her blood, eyes wide open, her heart stopped beating.

And her story ended.

And the peace she so much sought for became hers.

If she couldn't be understood, she could be dead.

Gladly, she chose the latter.

This is the story of the girl who didn't know when to stop.

This is the story of the girl who life moved on without.

This is story of the girl whose heart stopped beating.

This is the story of the girl whom you shouldn't pity.