The truth is that there are people who want to die.
No amount of love, logic, reason or money will make them happy in life.
Wish them well. Let them die.
Move on with your own life..
Don't let them take you with them.
March 14, 1951 - August 9, 1997
You're dead. Go away.
Bastard.
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12 comments:
I'm....speechless.
Wishing you(?) strength.
Freddie - thank you, dear. My husband committed suicide. Has taken me a long time to deal with that in a healthy way...but, I'm ok now.
It looks like this is the first anniversary of his suicide that arrived after you started blogging.
My thoughts are with you. FWIW.
Your poem has a healthy theme to it. We can look back with sadness, as long as we realize that we are responsible for our own happiness. Of which I wish you a great amount.
k - it happened in 1997. It's been a long road, but I made it.
k.d. - yes, I finally took back the power to control myself.
thank you both.
Like I always say, suicide is the sincerest form of self-criticism. Nothing says "I suck" better than putting a bullet in your own head. Or whatever.
bane - you are absolutely right. In spite of his good points, he had no use for himself.
(I am so thrilled you left a comment.)
It seems you were his only good point.
ah, the infinite past.
knows no time or boundaries at all.
only just when is the worse time to call.
Well, good fer you gal, buried him again.
what a moron t'bring you such pain.
Leave him t'push up daisies and feed worms.
Don't ferget t'wash yerhands of him, y'don't want any of his germs.
Bane - thank you, dear man.
Boneman - it is finally time to close that door.
There is strength in your words and there is strength in you. You are, therefore you live. Be at peace dear Lady....
Mick - I am thankful that I have, finally, begun enjoying life again. Thank you.
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