If Suicide Was A Person

Suicide, you don’t know me — but I hear a lot about you…

You’re a murderer. A liar. A thief — Allegedly.

Who do you think you are? Getting under people’s skin, putting a gun to their head — coercing them to think that they’re better off dead. Who are you to be pushing so many people over the edge?

You present yourself as the end to all suffering, but you are also the end to everything.

What a sick and clever lie that you tell. I wonder what other bullshit you sell… This life is already tragic — But you — You try your best to make it hell.

You’re not even good at what you do. You’ve attempted so many times to succeed at so few.

But you are relentless — A psychopath with a false license to kill — And the blood on your hands — it is all too real.

And still… You leave so many scars each time you fail — so many victims with wounds that never heal.

Even with God on their side, you still win sometimes.

I’m sure it’s not an easy thing — to look you in the eyes…

You must be pure evil — the devil himself, in disguise.