I was like a petal in the wind, I graced the
breeze like a seed in the wind. planting
my thoughts in a singular action,
But I screamed in frustration of a falling
that didn't descend fast enough for me.

Could I be like a stream of warmth that
was cut away from me, it flourished on
the curvature of my palm. Pooling I think
of thoughts swimming beneath, the bubbles
that linger are the words of my pain that popped.

The beauty in suicide isn't what you think its
a gesture of individuality, we are a flower
blossoming to the scent of death, and when
we are gone. Deceased this was our moment
to clarify our existence and then our peace.