Wishes wistfully swaying, singing

Like children, cheering, cacophony

Like elders looking down on us, enticing

Waiting for when we least expect anything

Then lurching from the darkness to restore:

Like a check in the mail, a lost friend checking in

Or anything good that happens time and time again

A positive swirl in the (sometimes) otherwise bleak world

A fresh perspective, an excitability for life

A vacation, a good dream

Happiness, blatantly

the words can come mentally, easily, fleetingly – floating, waiting, processing, conjuring, to be possessed, when suddenly
pen to paper, rigged, wretched mind betrays slowing, thoughts halt, hammering, stammering, sto—
some thoughts pop up instead – something about the political landscape, some introversive insecurity, words in a line that don’t make coherent sense, deadened, blackened — ugh

-n.v.

Seas of sorrow

ebb and flow

putrid stench of

Hatred

Yet we believe…

Somehow a sad face

realer than a happy one?

Happiness, a farce;

an illusion of the mind?

Cultured to be subdued

disengaged or eschew?

Yet we see panhandlers

abroad, viscerally sad,

broken

believed to be fakes

cheaters of the system

standing on the median

broken

– n.v.

For why is suicide such a grievous wound?

A human, entity of autonomy and rationality, built upon by themselves and by others, created from foundation to expiration, has chosen to undo what has been done. To destroy the creation in despite of itself in disregard to themselves and all of the other contributors to their autonomy and rationality. They’ve chosen a blank slate rather than the one with etchings all over. And this – this, is the real no-bullshit sadness that comes with suicide – to think that emptiness prevailed. To think that, despite the inherent humanly flaws of everyone, the little etchings weren’t worth it after all. That, somehow, the mind had convinced the raw bodily baggage to finally concede. That, the semblances of memory and shared experience we call life, was not greater, in a moment, than the alternative. The evil multi-armed demon of depression had deleted another idol of nostalgia. The sad, secret, sinister voice inside manifested and eviscerated the exterior.

 

(img cred: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/537265430540843421/)

 

– n.v.