Trigger warning: suicide.
I wonder if you ever think about this.
You say you need to quit existing and commit suicide. Howls swoop and roar around me and the only words I can stutter halfway intelligibly are
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO PLEASE NO
but then I call bs on myself, because of my own ideations aspiring to be intentions.
How can I do the baby please don’t go jazz all over your doormat, when I can relate completely to the urges? Then again, how can I not? Jazz turns to blues as the howls abate and the mind grinds in search of the right response.
I’ll miss you if you do
sounds weak. Cowardly.
I totally respect that
is just … so fucking smarmy somehow, I want to slap myself stupid for even formulating the sentence.
You’re in so much pain I
what?! I know those fucking feels and nothing helps. Nothing. Maybe a dart gun and a sedative? Fuck. What to say? Have you offed yourself already, will you turn up tomorrow? My blood runs cold and I berate myself for making it all about me.
I don’t even need to know you, to identify so closely with you. You are unwittingly holding up a mirror and my own reflection shows me your face.
You say you have to go and something wrenches and tears inside me. Forewarned is disarmed. I tell myself I cannot save you, then curse the selfish self help industry and it’s soap Oprahtic Socratic conveyor belt crap.
Shit shit shit fuck bollocks fuck shit!
But we are mostly selfish, in the end and I have turned your screams into a goddamned prose poem. A few more line breaks and it’ll stoop to free verse.
Are you still here … there? Hello.
You echo, reflect, whether you live or die.
Please be alive please be alive please be alive …
Why? Tibetans would be reciting the Rites of Bardo by now and making sure your soul caught its flight.
Fine okay die (don’t die), it’s your decision.
I call bs on those who say suicide is an act of insanity, selfishness, sin. I call bs on myself because I can’t be Tibetan about it at all
and fuckit I want to save you and I can’t and what the fuck use are we as beings, society, life?
I know the jargon,
taking four, N, catch the bus
I want four legs, N and that bus too,
no I want to be saved.
There is no solution to life, death or grief.
(Where is the grave of the unknown suicide?)
I love you.