U and I together 

Suicide is the morning cries tangled in confusion from one more bad night.

Suicide is that emptiness in your chest, and pain in your stomach when you realize all you do is hurt the ones you’re in love with.

Suicide is the pressure from a lonely room crippling you from getting out of bed.

Suicide is overthinking a blackout in your head, trembling in fear when you don’t remember what you did or said.

Suicide is sitting in the shower telling yourself you’ll be okay

You’ll be okay

You’ll be okay

You’ll be only okay

If there’s a God you say victimizing yourself, speaking about spirituality in such a patronizing way

You were meant to be left

All you want is to love, so you give, and you grow, you try harder to be the type of person you know one day somebody won’t leave

They’ll stay.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Suicide isn’t the answer. People leave. People hurt you. You’re going to fuck up. You’re going to feel so much. There’s always a chance that things will be better one day though. Not tomorrow, or next month, or even next year. But there’s a chance that one day things will be more than okay. You hold on to that sliver of a chance, and reach out. Talk to someone. Talk to me. 

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