Dear Suicidal Friend

Dear Suicidal Friend,

I’m not sure, but I’m assuming I’m supposed to give you something poetic that will move you. Make you believe in life again, tell you what life is and convince you to remain in it; your feet firmly etched into its soil. But, tell me friend; is life not like walking along the high rocks beside an ocean in the slicing wind of a storm? The black clouds above laugh at your insignificance, so able to just reach out of the sky and flick you like a flea. You look over the cliff, down on the blood fest the weather is bathing in, ripping and destroying everything it can wrap its cold fist around. It’s a never ending idiocy between two opposing currents, not becoming one without destroying the other.

This is you, peering from a safe ledge and overseeing the truth of the world as a sole speck in the universe. Is this not what life makes of you? This is life, is it not? It’s wretched and horrible; in the worst ways a man can be twisted and mutilated in order to obtain information. Or the way a young girl can lie naked in a bed with twenty men waiting to enter from outside her door. I don’t condemn you friend, for thinking that this earth is filthy. Once one falls in its polluted excrement, the muck can be washed away, but the rotten stench will remain for days. This is the truth, though even as it sticks, you're still here. Perhaps I should ask the girl in the brothel why she hasn’t done the same. Or the man being tortured why he pleads for his life even though the pain could murder five souls and rape another. Is it because staying on an earth full of deceit and body counts is better than entering a life after death that is completely unknown? I think not, so why then?

Love.

War is ever ending, and nothing is obtained unless it’s fought for. But why do people fight so gallantly, whether it’s at the death of another, or at the defeat of a demon inside oneself? Love is always at the other end. We are tiny dots, nothing compared to the entire retrospect of the universe. Even so, it’s the love that this universe has brought us that enables us to throw our bodies into battle, because we know the reward that awaits us on the other side. Because we are strong, and we push for love rather than give up in shame. We recognise all that we adore in this world, and grab our pistols to defend it. We know of our darkest fantasies, and push to morph the world into one where we can experience them.

You know much love friend, isn’t that madness what you decided to use in order to protect it? If death is what you wish upon, then why have you gone to such great lengths in order to prevent it from reaching you? You’d be lying if you said you have nothing left to fight for, otherwise why would you still be fighting? Fighting comes with grave pain, but if love was so easily grasped, if life was so obtainable, then we could not have the honor of calling it beautiful.

 Maybe poetry is just fancied up emptiness; perhaps the same way you may view the world. Though what I've given you today is the truth in the most honest writing I could form, a battle I’m fighting for me and you, though most importantly for preserving a life with much love left inside it. I’ll ask you one thing from here on my friend, please let us reach it.

 Image: Entrance by ElenaKalis Underwater Photography on deviantart