There is no beautiful way to describe suicide.
Because it looks like dirty towels still hanging in the bathroom,
and blood stains that might never wash out of the bathroom floor.
It looks like empty yellowed pill bottles,
and half eaten plates of rotting food,
and tear streaked faces reflected in completely shattered glass.
There is no beautiful way to describe suicide. Because it means that the last living thing you’ll ever see is your puffy eyed,
vomit covered,
blood splattered reflection.
And there is no beautiful way to fall in love death.
