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

That matters.

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.