September 10th is National Suicide Awareness Day.
Every year, every day that we spread further from the other in time is like the continental plates leaving each other’s coast lines after Pangaea found out it would no longer exist.
On this day, every year, I find myself thinking of you.
You were the first suicidal case for me,
the one where a midnight call to the mental hospital would become something routine.

You constructed a noose so perfect that it matched the image upon Google,
What kind of sick creature puts instructions for nooses on Google these days?
Last time I checked, hanging others was a crime.
Hanging yourself is a bigger one,
because the death penalty ALWAYS applies to you when you **** yourself.

This year, you’re throwing a party. I’m delighted to know as my stomach churns its illness away that you are consuming liquids that will give you the same bitter feeling tomorrow morning.

I’m lucky to know that you survived.
That she and he and her and him and they lived.

That the noose didn't work,
that the blade wasn't sharp enough,
that the hands around the neck gave up,
and that the window was locked.

The broken souls up in Heaven will forever watch our lives,
as we so desperately attempted to save theirs.