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Martha Jordan Sep 2010
It happens quickly.

I'll be rushing down the highway, my mind in a thousand different places, and it happens.

I could be angry with you, or myself, or our circumstances, or not angry at all, but it happens.

It happens quickly.

All it takes is the name of your city.
All it takes is a kid in a uniform,
a song by that one band you like so much,
a stone angel worshipping a god you no longer believe in.

It happens quickly.

All it takes is
that infernal set of railroad tracks we crossed a hundred times,
a glance at my battered, water-damaged watch,
putting gas in my tank and wondering if this is the day that I won't stop driving, the day that I just drive until I can see you and make sure you know that I care, and I always will.

All it takes is one of those little reminders,
those memorial elements, and
I'm gone.
I'm back in that moment that was empty and quiet
but heartwrenchingly vital.
There was nothing but the rise of your chest from slow steady breaths, the sound of your heartbeat pounding like my favorite bassline,
the glimmering stars we couldn't see,
the smell of smoke and wet grass and contentment.
The enveloping feeling that the world will survive if we escaped for an hour,
that regrets are nonexistent,
that for once in my life my inadequacies are not so painfully obvious and I feel loved.

It happens quickly.
I think I am in love.
M Oct 2014
Though your hand pulled the trigger,
You tied your own noose,
You emptied the bottle's contents into your hands,
You jumped and finally let loose,

Your hand could have been held,
Your voice could have been heard.
Your tears could have been wiped away,
Your demons could have been cured.

They say suicide is selfish,
At one's own will and action.
Why is it that until after the fact,
We finally give a reaction?

Life should be cherished
While still around.
Don't tell me some don't speak up,
Don't tell me they never made a sound.

We're all fighting battles
Day in and day out,
And in my heart of hearts,
These people didn't **** themselves on their own; I have no doubts.

Controversial and complicated,
Evoking and deep,
Taking your own life
Is not a solo leap

Into the unknown of death,
Afterlife and reincarnation;
It's a leap that's sometimes aided,
A path that's prepaved towards life's suffocation.

Yes, suicide is a solo act
Done on your own,
And reasons why people choose this fate
Will sometimes be left unknown.

Don't be a force behind a trigger though,
A force behind tying a rope;
Be a force of empathy and compassion,
A force of inspiring hope.

We can't save the world,
Or all the lost souls.
We can save our own actions though,
And keep in mind what we ought to always know;

You never truly know
What people are enduring,
What people are hiding,
Why people are hurting.

You never truly know
Who needs a simple smile or a grand gesture-
Whoever you help though,
Will always remember.

Therefore, with clichés aside
And pessimistic notions unheard
Please love and be kind and listen;
Their abilities to save and set free are one of the only things in this world I am assured.

We leave marks upon this world,
Without our consent and sometimes our conscious thought.
So try to leave behind marks that inspire and grow,
Marks that in the best light, cannot be forgot.

Though you pulled the trigger
And tied your own noose,
I wish you knew that path wasn't made for you,
And that will forever remain the truth.

I wish you knew that you weren't alone,
Even in your darkest hour.
I wish you knew that pulling that trigger
Didn't give you all the control and power-

It took a life worth living,
A soul worth saving and repairing.
It took your whole life to make it to that point,
And seconds to leave us all despairing

For closure, reason and hindsight
As to why you didn't reach for aid.
But even more so,
Why our own arms, now shaking by our sides, heartwrenchingly stayed.
Suicide is controversial so with that in mind, I appreciate commentary but please don't attack me for my standpoint on the matter. This subject can open up a lot of doors and by writing this, as much of my writing is, I'm expressing myself the best way I know how. I'm not looking for a debate here, please don't start one.

Within 7 months at my high school, 3 students committed suicide. I didn't know any of them personally but it still impacted me and does to this day. It reaffirmed that people change, leave or die without much notice. Therefore, be kind. Be understanding. Tell people you love them while you can. Your actions can stir up more than you can comprehend, for the best or the worst. 3 suicides later, watching friends, my school and community cope finally convinced me that taking my own life was not worth it and finding help was my only option. I struggled throughout middle school up until my senior year with bouts of depression and suicidal thoughts. Some people aided me on that path; they bullied me, called me names, etc. And they didn't know the damage they were inflicting. There were also people that saved my life without even knowing it, and every day I am thankful for the small to grand, conscious to unconscious efforts to keep me around.

Ultimately, this is about how the path to suicide isn't a solo path; people are sometimes driven to extreme measures because of how people have treated them before. Don't be nice to others because you're fearful they'll **** themselves if you aren't; that isn't what this is about. It's about being the best version of yourself to others because you just never really know how someone's life is going. You can't control anyone but yourself, so control the fact that you can be good to people. Giving to others, I have found, does nt leave you any less full but even more so. Give love, give a hand, give help and guidance and take those things when given to you. Please please PLEASE know that your life is important, and worth saving, even if you have to save yourself.
sabby Aug 2019
i did not know,
that loving her would be
unravelling
the bubble wrap from the
thorns she held within

pulling the insubstantial strands of
spiderweb silk apart
to discover the crimson that
did not come from her
but from the storms that lashed her
into
into a million pieces.

i did not know
falling for her was akin to being
impaled on her vicious
thorns

but also
being folded into her
embrace
velvety smooth against
my skin
her head resting on my shoulder
her arms tight around my waist

i did not know
that within that exquisite exterior -
for she was so perfect to me -
hid a darker side
which she had never
dared to
reveal

i did not believe
that this fragile flower was
far more tenuous
than anyone had seen her before

that she had faced entire
hurricanes
made of ice and flint
winds that had scorned her
with bitter frost
and mocking glimpses of relief
thunderstorms

alone.

and when i pulled away from her
retreating
retreating back into
the warmth of the sunshine that awaited me
that when i was soaking up the healing balm of the
sun

i did not know
that she would pull her petals shut
that she would fall apart so heartwrenchingly
that the mystical colour which i loved so
so dearly about her
would
drain
from

my rose.
this is dedicated to you: you who were so dear to me. i will never forget you.

— The End —