You slit your wrists in a crowded bar. You put a bullet
through your head at dinner with friends. You casually tumble onto the highway
from a moving vehicle. You kill yourself at Starbucks. A dozen imagined suicides
everyday. You imagine warm blood running down your arms, you feel the cold gun
barrel against your temple. The song in your head goes, “ten good reasons to
stay alive, ten good reasons that I can’t find…” A soundtrack to bleeding out.
A dozen imagined suicides everyday, a dozen morbid
prayers for peace. Morbid prayers, but prayers just the same.
