Let light in.

All around me there
Is death. People telling me
That they want to die.

I open up a
Paper, or magazine: and
Guess what? Just death, and

Ways to do it. Or
Reasons to do it. Or texts
On my phone that I

Would reply to, if
I didn't feel bad myself.
If I could stop just

Thinking about me,
My petty problems. Just let
Some light in, maybe:

Allow happiness
In, give it a chance. Not just
Allow myself to

Be seduced, entranced
By suicide, all its tricks
And its promises.