My Home

Here's one of my more current "poems". It's just a dumb little piece about trying to make sense of someone committing suicide. I think it's funny when people say that it's the coward's way out. I don't think it's fair to judge people like that. You have no clue what they're going through/have gone through. I find it sad that people try to say that they're better and they say that they'd face their problems "like a man" and gut it out. You don't know the half of it. I've been on the brink of suicide before. It's not a decision that's easy...

My Home
As the desperate man's problems got bigger and bigger
He kissed the barrel and pulled the trigger.
Analyze it all you want, it'll still never make sense.
Not unless you've lived on his side of the fence...

It's a scary darkened world, yet he called it home,
the population was one, yet he was never alone.
It's cold and raining everyday, yet he was always dry and warm
His demons stayed away and never showed their true form.
Clouds block the light, but he's always embraced by sunshine
Tears constantly cascade from his eyes, but he's still always fine
Maybe there's more to this world than we first thought,
It's a place where he went when he was distraught,
It's a place that he loved and to keep it he fought,
His war had ended, but this world hadn't faded,
It's a place he kept secret and patiently waited,
For the downfall of his home, for the end was near
and now that he's gone, the end is here, and his home is fading
with the presence of fear.
His life ended and he was still misunderstood, but what he did was for the greater good.
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I'm also going to include this piece I originally wrote for one of my few friends who cared, and was in the "I'm sorry/goodbye" stage. That person was apparently moments away from taking their life, and for some reason called to tell me goodbye personally. I was speechless, it was the last person I'd expect to hear it from. I bolted over to see them and on the way I jotted down a few thoughts, and this is what it became...

Suicide is nothing more than a last resort coping mechanism. It's the last ditch effort for coping with pain. It happens when you realize that the consequences of you dying are far less severe than when you're alive. It will hurt the people around you, but the pain you're feeling is not going to end. It's never an easy decision nor is it a decision you ever want to be faced with. When you've reached that point, you must decide if those consequences are a fair trade...
...are they?

To this day they still carry around that paper towel that I wrote it down on. Is it crazy to believe that a 5 minute thought and the presence of someone who cares could help a person make a recovery and be the successful person they've become. I think so, but I'm ecstatic to see them make it out alive. That person is one of the few people who I can call a friend and know that if a bullet is coming toward us, we'd fight to take it for the other.




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"Patriots always talk of dying for their country but never of killing for their country." - Bertrand Russell (1872 - 1970)