Suicide

I wonder,
Popped pills,
Slit wrists,
Skyscrapers and bridges,
Ties and ropes for nooses,
Do they solve the equation of pain?
Does death divulge the answers to a sorrowful soul?

I wonder,
The pain,
The torture,
The weight of it all,
Burying a soul so deep,
That death seems to smile a better way than life,

I wonder,
Kid suicide,
Only teens still,
Some even younger,
Such early goodbyes,
Goodbyes that skin away the mask of the living,

What is it?
That cannot be screamed out loud,
To your mother’s, father’s, friend’s and the world’s face,
That cannot be shared and must remain
A piling lump of debris that slowly buries you underneath,
What is it?

What does it say about us?
That children will rather oblige the smile of death
Than let their hearts be read out aloud?
That they choose the path out of life
Than speak, scream, shout their pain out?
What does it say about us?

Was their cry ignored?
Did we tell them to grow up?
Did we see and not speak?
For our hands may not have tied
The noose, or carried the pills,
But they helped dig their graves.

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