I read today about a suicide. Sometimes I imagine. Some of those times I write.



Colors fade to hues of gray, leaving me amazed at the simplicity of things in this moment. No more pain. No more clarity. Just shades, numbness. I see my hands, foreign members of my fading self. Grasping at nothing, except for memories of the lines of your absent face. I reach for the gentle curve of your chin, to cradle you in the crest of my hand. Once more. As everything else fades, you remain, lasting, clinging to my being while all falls...empty, a fluttering shadow. You are the last to go. You are the last remaining remnant of life, you and my pain of losing you. In the end, it is the last of life that I know, you...you giving way finally to those four little pills.