Down the third aisle you can stroll if you want to find some trolls giving away the jewels  

That aisle can hide the truth         

Like a child and a fairy stealing his tooth

Down that aisle we shop for smiles Pearly white, and perfectly aligned 

Down the third aisle we ask no proof to be filed                                 

No identification. We are never defiant 

Down the third aisle we each get a cart 

We shop till we drop 

Down another hole , another stage prop 

To be back in that place 

The third aisle where we are all packed and stacked 

Perfect cardboard boxes, freshly cut plastic smells. Awaiting the price tag for one’s denial. 

down the third aisle they can shop for us in piles 

If we just close our eyes , recite our  hymns and, pray for our buyers. 



– Excerpt –

–  Do you know what life is just like?

Well, Life is like a symphony. You may like it at first, even relate to it. It may conjure some living-like spirit of thoughts and emotions that holds you so deep. You feel you are right back there. So you feel safe again and think it is so soothing and mellow, slow yet rhythmic and in every delay and lingering in each note there is an absolute thrusting climax to be attained at the end of it , you enjoy it to the fullest at first. Then minute by minute it keeps going faster and faster, yet you still like it. Until it gets even faster, a little bit too fast for you, perhaps a bit obtrusive now. Your heart is beating and your senses are barely keeping up with the melody. Then your senses are barely keeping up with the memory of its need to keep up with that melody. Then a sharp cold tingly feeling comes hurling down your spine. It is so discomforting you don’t feel as safe and guarded anymore. And that’s so scary when there is nowhere to turn to in order to escape this. A shelter of some sort. Even for a little while. So you try and pause it, over and over again, until suddenly amidst your desperate attempts to lower the volume, rewind and/or pause it, it just stops. Only you are not ready, as it simply and promptly stops.  It is over and you did nothing because there was nothing to be done. And that’s not enough for you. It is not fair, that you are left behind. Once again, and this time for the last time you are late again. You couldn’t catch up. But as a selfish child you don’t care for your incompetence, you want the ride to wait for you to hop on. You want more of the pleasure and undoubtedly the thrill.  You want to make it, to succeed so you never have to face the facts and taste the failure and helplessness when that is all that is left on your plate.  As there is no more for you, and nothing more is to be said or done. So you try and remember the good times you had , the passing fleeting moments of satisfaction you had throughout the symphony that high rise that brought back to the moments where, you truly felt alive. And the thought crosses your mind every once in a while: if you can only pause it, and change it a little bit. Adjust it to your liking and needs, lower the volume, or set it in slow motion. such an uplifting thought. But unfortunately you must know by now that you can’t. No one can.



– Why is suicide considered a cowardice act? When in fact most, if not all people at some point or another fear death. The unknown. The end.

But the person that goes knocking on deaths door, surrendering themselves are weak? Going face to face with the unknown. The possible nothingness? Those who are ready to leave shouldn’t do so. Because we don’t believe that they should be? That no one in their right mind would do such a thing? Whose mind is it?

I find it quite ironic that people label those who commit an act they wouldn’t dare to do “Weak”.

Furthermore, why do we owe life to be strong? To put on the effort, to reach for the stars, to expand our horizons and never, ever give up?

And if not then we are deemed weak, less of, inept in a way even.

If there is one constant thing we know about living is that it ends. Now what happens afterward, is up for debate. Or speculations really. But we know that it ends. Death comes. We end.

But when someone takes charge of their own life, and a huge part of it which is death, that person is looked down upon. That person was weak. Selfish and all the condolences and the put on faces of disbelief can’t hide the fact that what we really can’t believe, can’t comprehend how someone can do this. Or don’t want to. No. because we already have the answer we need “life if for living”. We have a civil and moral duty to force everyone into believing so; for their own good. That they are better off alive, that everyone is.
And Obviously since we are still alive. We “put up with it” we “are strong enough to wait out the storm” And thus judge them if not even resent them for doing something that, in best cases we never thought of, and “worst” cases never had the courage to do. 

It is true that everyone is fighting a battle, in some way. But battles end. Sooner or later. And even though we know they do, maybe some don’t always want to wait for the end to approach.

Maybe some are just ready?

Maybe some are just ready to cross. Perhaps. Just perhaps the “when” is irrelevant in the bigger picture? But that thought can’t even be entertained when the preferred picture is the one where we desperately try to prolong life running around panting on the inside jumping from one new cutting edge discovery to the other, from raw diets to heal on the inside, to rejuvenating surgeries to appear healed on the outside, to, and that is my favorite one;  garnishing enough good deeds to make it for the afterlife.. The after party, where we really start living.

The thing is, No matter what you can never truly “understand” what someone is going through. You can sympathize, even relate. But you can’t with certainty feel every fiber of it. You simply can’t be the other person. Not for a minute to even feel an ounce of what they might be feeling. To comprehend a speck of their thought process. No matter how hard you try to convince that person, and yourself in the process that “it gets better” that is a promise you can’t guarantee.

 A promise you make to make yourself feel better for “doing the right thing” “Saying the right thing”. We turn someone’s life and decisions into our own script and we shout the lines across the stage for all of the cast to hear, over and over. And over until we end. The lights are out. The stage is empty.
You can promise a possibility of things getting better. But don’t we already know this? What if you no longer care for possibilities? For fleeting moments of joy, however long they are. What if, just if, you’ve had your fair share of joy and you want to leave now? What if you are simply, content?

We all end. Life ends. But ending it is yet somehow, wrong.

The truth of the matter is; no matter how hard we try to delay it death is part of living so respect that and truly live, and let live. In all that entails.

BUT on a final note if we can’t accept / respect someone’s choice then perhaps just choose our words carefully “Suicide is for the weak” said amongst those who are still living .. Well let’s put it this way; we can never know the impact it might have. After all every person who has ever committed suicide was, once, alive too. And I’m sure we would hate to think that we had anything to do with a cowardice act in any way.