“I want to end it,
The pain,”
I tell her.
“I imagine a blade across my wrist,
And only the imagination brings me immense relief.
What if I actually do it.
It will end the pain.”
“Will it?”
She asked.
“That blade will take the pain,
From you, surely.
But that pain will get transferred,
To all the people who thought,
You were better than that.
To all the people,
Who wanted you in their future.”
“Suicide…”, she said as she looked away,
“Is the most selfish way out,
By giving your pain to the few,
Who so deeply loved you.”
Nonfunctioning Adult 