It might be said:
He walked alone,
Through the woods of ancient roots,
Within endless shrubs of glistening-green stems,
And aging, decomposing fruits.
He ran along the maze of bushes,
As though escape was distant...
Expertise no longer consistent.
He tripped, stumbled,
Along the snakes of vines,
Which promised him care, comfort,
As the mouse was promised love by the cat,
Vines were no longer able to maintain their caution for the boy,
For he slipped through their bare, smoothed curls
Of stems, and dislocated his purpose for living.
He fell into the cave of confusion,
No longer riveted by the significance in living,
And prior to anybody’s realisation,
Of his surreal, realistic, reality of life,
Took his own, upon individual discretion.
Mental Illnesses are not jokes. Many individuals have committed suicide, due to influences of their surrounding community, and wider society.