They say suicide
Is a selfish act.
Although I never could fathom why
When it is so difficult to acquire the help one needs
For when problems are spoken
And cold words form in the warm air
They become erased
Falling to the ground quicker than they appeared.
After one is gone,
The life slipping away
That’s when more words are formed.
“If only they told someone.”
“I could’ve helped.”
Getting help is easier said than done
If someone falls in a crowd of people,
Does anyone help them up?
Will anyone remember the fall?
Suicide is someone helping themselves
When no one else tried hard enough to listen carefully
To the smoke that was always there.
I could never see suicide as a selfish act.
No one can deny
There are better alternatives.
Though things will never get better
If all one does is sit around waiting.
One has to go and make those good things happen.
Climbing back up to the surface
Involves many falls and stumbles.
They make us human.
Hurting and humbling us with every misstep.
For it’s not the destination
But the journey
The more pain,
The more tolerant one becomes
It’s easy to stop fighting
For one to choose a shortcut
To an inevitable end result
Make the choice
To take the long way around.