That conversation has become stale.
Worthless, a waste of time and energy.
"There's still happiness left, but you must search for it."
The words roll off my tongue without meaning.
"It's all about perspective change; positive thinking can cure you."
More words that hold no weight and float away like a feather in the breeze.
"All the love you need is already inside you."
Still they stare at me blankly.
No light can penetrate their darkness.
They're more comfortable in places where they can hide from themselves.
And from each other.
But I want to show them!
I must show them what I have seen!
The spread of mutual love under an ocean of stars, tucked away in a mountain wilderness.
And the feeling of euphoria that envelops such a situation.
All of life can be like those moments.
Those beautiful moments I spent soaking up the moons energy under a night sky,
With a cigarette in my mouth and not a care in the world.
But it's different here, too many cares.
Too many reasons to stare coldly into a bleak future.
From time to time, they come to me.
The suicide kids.
They come to express their anguish, to share their grief.
Over and over I listen to their words.
I listen to their sorrows and their pain.
They tell me they don't want to carry on,
That a grave sounds cozy to them.
But that conversation has gone stale.
So I spit back my usual remarks.
Some nonsense about happiness being a choice.
A little blabbering about finding light in the dark.
Then they feel good for a time, at least I like to think so.
But the paradigm shift never comes.
They crawl back into the shadowy corners of their minds.
It seems I was only able to lift my own self out of the ashes.
Maybe there is no helping them, these broken souls.
"They'll learn to pick up their own pieces without you." I say to myself.
As if I wasn't sick of talking about it already; sick of giving advice that they can't process.
Sick of absorbing their depression into my heart.
Sick of that same old stale conversation.