Sit back,
Tell me what you've been needing.
You don't have to be patient boy you know I come with It.

Spending all this time rolling with ya
See I don't care what we're doing
We can do what you want, I'm not looking to the door.

I haven't seen my therapists in months
& everyone assumes that's a good thing.

I seem happier
& everyone thinks that I'm getting better.

I'm writing again
& everyone says writing is a healer.

They forget that therapists & medicine is for those who can still be helped. That being content is one of the final steps in ending your life.

My poetry is my suicide note and I'm writing again.

She was no victim,
Just not very smart,
Her aim was poor from the start,
All those warnings,
Like ammunition,
They told her “fire”!
But she wouldn’t listen,
A reluctant hunter,
She worried a lot,
Now she is prey,
She lost her shot,
Just to survive,
For her that was good,
Now, she may never get out of the woods
© B L Costello 2016

"You are the one I want to talk to when the rain is hitting hard against my window.
You are the one I want close enough to touch but I know that wont happen for a while.
You are the one I want to tell my deepest darkest secrets to at the most ungodly hours of the night.
You are the one."