if i ever seek validation
in someone else
i hope they
**** me.

I've been contemplating suicide,
as of late.
Not your standard,
bullet to the brain,
ending ones physical existence,
type of suicide.
No,
I'm considering something... more direful.
I'm going to commit a writers' suicide.
I'll start by deleting my various internet caches,
like the bat of an eye they'll all disappear.
Blink, blink, blink!
For extra measure,
I'll stick an Ice pick through this computer,
then sink it,
in the lake.
I'll follow that up,
by dissolving my pens in a vat of acid.
To the wood chipper!
Go the pencils.
I'll have a bonfire,
burn all the physical text I have,
and every single scrap of blank paper,
within reach.
To finish it off,
I'll break my thumbs,
pull out my own tongue.
Is a writer really alive,
without his word?

She became societies therapist,
listening to her openly struggling clients
like a mother to a sick child.
letting the weak lay on her couch of advice.
  Tick
Keeping their secrets without questions to quander,
leaving her with a sense of trust, for all to see.
   Tick
Every now and then she’d close her doors
hoping they’d not return with their
oh so dramatic attempts at life.
Some clued in.
  Tick
Then she’d realize just how lonely she was.
Societies therapist would slowly become
society herself.