You long to fill the ache in your soul.
You fear to speak to your friends;
Lest they judge, scoff, or shun you for it.
Your body cries out to be comforted.
Just the touch of another human being
would lessen the pain.
But you fear to reach out,
lest someone calls you crazy.
Nothing cures forever
and the dull void makes you its *****.
Until even the bullet,
the bridge over the river,
the drugs,
the rope,
the blade . . .
Looks like your only friend.
For what is life without purpose?
And what is purpose but the need to be needed?