The dreamer forgot how to dream,

The musician could no longer play,

The silent ones began to scream,

and I sat in shock and dismay.

The painter destroyed his paint,

The sculptor had nothing to display,

The ones who were pure began to taint,

and I sat in shock and dismay.

The world of art began to crumble,

The museums wafted away,

The orator could only mumble,

and I sat in shock as dismay.

Now we are dead,

Filled with dread,

Art has left,

We are bereft.

The world is dark,

A hollow shell,

Abandoned barque,

It sounds like Hell.

-Rei

Being suicidal is like having a murderer whispering in your ear all the ways he can kill you and every once and a while you turn to face him with a smile and say "let's do it". Sometimes it's in an instant and sometimes he's kind enough to let you give him a date and time to end it all. Then he promises you it will be better but it won't and you know it although you choose to believe him because it's easier. Because in that moment the pain is distracted. Not gone just not present for a moment. It's like a vacation crammed into a few minutes of blissful thoughts of a fantasy where everything turns out to be okay but it's not. You're dead. Your friends are hurting. Your family is broken. The ones that loved you blame themselves for leaving. The bullies hate themselves even more. Your death is a shockwave and it hit anyone and everyone near you. They are all now as unstable as you and they now have murderers strapped to there backs as well.

You are sorry.