I’ve been trolling the internet, looking at the various poetry stylings of various sites, and what I’ve come away with, after reading endless Auden, Plath, and Dickinson homages (homagi?), is that people who publicly and incessantly obsess about suicide are either poseurs or need help. So, if you’re doing it (the incessant public obsessing part), and you’re not a poseur?
Get help.
Please.
Because somebody out there loves you. And it may be me. And I will be pissed at you. For fucking ever. Because in reality? It’s all about me anyway.
There are all sorts of people who can help, either on-line here: www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org, or over the phone here: 1-800-273 TALK (that’s 1-800-273-8255, the National Suicide Prevention Hotline).
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