Dear Suicide...

9th Letter (The End?)

Dear Suicide,

It has been a long, long battle between
you and I.
Just like countless numbers of your victims,
you found me.
Your name was never really mentioned much, but, I knew enough about you - yes indeed.
The dark and unwanted side of life
led me to you.

You invited me to dine with you at your intimidating table,
and I did.
I sat across from you, eating the stirred up thoughts that made me think that life isn't worth it.

"Life isn't worth it...and you aren't worth life." You said.

You patted my shoulder and asked me to think about it.
I returned to my fractionated abode,
nearly convinced by your whispers of emptiness, already.
I knew it was wrong through and through, but I kept the words that you spoke to me in the back of my mind.
One day, life ate me alive.
It ate me, right down to my rotting tears and wounded soul.

I fell into a trap;
you tied my hands and said: "I've got you, now."
Tears swam in my eyes.
I planned to dress my neck in pink;
lift my feet above ground until my head hung low and my eyes hung heavy.
The obvious and to-be-expected obnoxiousness interrupted me.
I dropped death.
I dropped you.

You were mad, so you made me pay with more misery.
You were not victorious.
Ever since that day,
you've tried again and again with me.
Different ways...different attempts...
Every so often, you infect me with the sickness of suicidal madness.
You still insist on battling with me.

I'm hoping that you don't win.

Im hoping...

There's hope.