recoil youth

As humans, our very touch ravages. It is always the cusp of reality that we cling desperately to, refusing to admit weakness or fault with toxic adamancy. We've become an ouroboros of what we find most taboo, most unspeakable- we willingly swallow the lies we tell ourselves at night because we are afraid. Afraid of adulthood, afraid of truth, afraid of ourselves. Dancing around what is deemed socially acceptable is like walking on glass, it's easiest to simply cover up that which is exposed to keep  from getting hurt. So behind masks we hide, trying to play a role we never were meant to play. 

Around the throat of every adolescent is a noose made of all that is expected of them, required to be accepted in their community. Held up by what has warrented those expectations, some find it easier to breathe than others. Some, however, loose their footing, choking themselves out on dreams not necessarily their own. 

'A pity.'

'A shame.'

It is a chorus that is wailed at an increasing rate, solemnly sung alongside epitaphs and death dates inscribed far sooner than they should have been. Bodies laid to rest long before they were meant to. We cry for those we have lost but fail to bring justice to that what has been wronged. We stand for harmony but are unable to recognize the deterioration of one of our own.

Suicide is a term loosely used, pegged on those who are said they could not bear their own thoughts. Ironic, really, isn't it? We, as humans, mandate that our existence is communal, one of unity. Our entire lives consist of continuously intersecting pathways but we have the audacity to claim we live statically, separately when faced with something inflammatory. Originality isn't a cornerstone of humankind, so don't dare say it was a moment of weakness, some poor kid falling victim to self-imposed corrosion. The words we speak can contain acid, burning away resolve like it's skin. Don't think for a moment that the thoughts we have are isolated because they are not, they are a reflection of every single encounter we've had.

So let's acknowledge it by its true name, the one where the line between life and death is crossed by the means to an end has been facilitated by another- murder.