I do not mean in a melodramatic Lucretian way, I mean that mentally, suicide begins to shed its skin of inappropriate wrongness, disgrace, shame and tragedy. It emerges a neutral specimen of unoffensive cool blue to a soundtrack of the XX. It sits just behind you. The more futile your work seems the more you turn around to look at it, and the louder the music becomes.
Fuck you suicide. Fuck you for not being available to me. You are a lie that I cant stop being told to me, that I cant stop hearing.
It sucks. If I listen to you long enough I become painfully split between your world and the 'real' one. It really hurts. You are irreconcilable.