Labels. Square. Cut. Legible enough to judge.
To rank and trivialize, hollow out a once million dollar view.
Leave only the shattered confidence and trampled mind to litter the scene
The roof of a skyscraper seems inviting with a
neon sign reading "Thank society for this."
You find yourself weeping, attaching, flooding your gates
To this sign, next to where you're going to surrender
Because no letter, no word, no other human
could grab your slit wrist  and lead you away. To say
"**** the square, cut, legible enough to stand scenery. Stop painting with your running blood"

Go with a plastic bag.
No- not over your head. Pick a size off the shelf
Now pour that million dollar view you make up in the bag.
Drip a few branches and some lamp posts,
or paint the sky arching to the shore with a flock of birds swirling around
Make it bulge
Warmth radiating through
Now toss it. Throw it. Hurl it. Hand it.
It holds, it shifts from a silent setting in one eye to a hurricane coming

Though the contents are still exactly the same
You cannot escape interpretations
For fear of the unknown and the trap door to never open up beneath you
But you can be a plastic bag instead of a box.