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Suicide Poem



It is what it is.  Isn't it?
I love life as much as I have ever loved life.
Which is a lot.
But society won't allow a space for me to inhabit
(or if it does, I can't find it),
something sustainable from moment to moment
(for there are only moments).

What is it that is?  Hell
if I know.
And everything is going the wrong way.
Why should I
go along?
A little space.  Something I can work with.
Somewhere I can work from.

Sometimes, I know, the answer is no.
Sometimes, I know, the question is rhetorical.
Is this it?
Am I complicit
in my punishment
if I permit it?
Quiet.  I may try it.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.