A Suicide Story
Death. God's way of saying you're fired from your job; life.
Suicide. My way of saying, He can't fire me, I quit!
Our society leads people to quit their jobs, around 3000 daily.
My suicide story, it all started with a slit.
The first time I cut, I had no idea what I was even doing.
Later it became the only thing that made me feel human.
I didn't belong where I was. I didn't belong anywhere.
Then I thought of the perfect plan.
I would move out of state, without anyone knowing.
I would continue to lose my mind, and keep quiet and smile.
Should I jump? Should I cut a little deeper? Should I take the pill that will end all my pain?
No, not yet. I'll just wait a little while.
I thought about death for a long time one day.
I didn't want to kill myself. I wanted to make the pain go away. I wanted to be calm.
I put away my razor and went searching for help.
I found my source of pain. My answers were in my palm.
I went to therapy.
I moved back home.
I visited the roof of an apartment.
I saw a bus; the top read "Don't jump." That turned me back into the monster I had become.
Back to the harm.
I took the rest of my pills, and slipped into bed.
I made a cut deep enough to kill me, and sure enough it did.
I prefer, by far being dead.
