As one unit, we pulse,
All of our minds repulsed.
A glint of happiness
Is shut out with progress.
We're the suicidal,
A series of joint souls,
All breathing the same air,
Tying nooses from hair,
Marking skin with scissors
Meant for paper slithers,
So desperate for death
We'll tie wool to our neck
One jump and it snaps, but
I guess it's worth a shot.
We're the children that try
Everything to die.
We may have not met, but
We are connected, cut
Apart by fate but kept
Close by feelings of dread.
I do not know your name.
I know we're not the same
But we have each others
Backs as we fight our wars;
We are never alone.
There is always some hope.
We're the suicidal.
A series of joint souls.
We've made it this far, friends,
And we're far from the end.
28/12/2016
C.J.
