suicide

Jesus was a suicide, if you ask me.

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. Help me. Please, help me. If you really exist, you skinny jew bastard, help me kill myself.

Anyway, these ideas or feelings or ramblings had their satisfactions. They turned the pain of others into memories of one__ own. They turned pain, which is natural, enduring, and eternally triumphant, into personal memory, which is human, brief, and eternally elusive. They turned a brutal story of injustice and abuse, an incoherent howl with no beginning or end, into a neatly structured story in which suicide was always held out as a possibility. They turned flight into freedom, even if freedom meant no more than the perpetuation of flight. They turned chaos into order, even if it was at the cost of what is commonly known as sanity.

Life is like a game of chess.To win you have to make a move.Knowing which move to make comes with IN-SIGHTand knowledge, and by learning the lessons that areacculated along the way.We become each and every piece within the game called life!

Some commit slow suicide with the sweet poison of their memories.

This life you cry up so much is what I wanted to extinguish by suicide, whereas my dream, my dream__h, it has revealed to me a great, new, regenerated intensity of life!

Peter denied Jesus; Judas betrayed Jesus. The bad news was that both of them fell off the track and were both filled with regrets, remorse and anguish for their mischievous behaviours. However it was only Peter who chose to rise again after falling! Judas chose to end it with suicide! If you fall, you can rise again!

The only God who can lead you out of trouble when you are pursuing your dreams is the one who gave you that assignment. Neglecting him from your plans is tantamount to commitment of suicide.

The world is full of 'friends' of suicide victims thinking 'if I had only made that drive over there, I could have done something.

I have fooled life and life has fooled me. We are quits. I say good-bye. Think sometimes in the hour of happiness of your poor, comical fool who loved you truly and so well.

And it feels strange, almost sad, to walk through ther empty halls. Each step I take sounds so lonely.

Girl from the fifth floor, who feeds the birds every day, climbs up to the water tank and jumps off. I see her body on the road below, and feel absolutely nothing. Maybe because I expect her to get up and walk off. In a story, the birds would have joined forces in a show of gratitude and broken her fall, carried her to a faraway land of safety. As it is, they just gurgle foolishly and confer about the no-show of breakfast.I imagine myself in Pigeon girl's place - a split open bag of skin on tar.

I can't wait until they don't have me here anymore.

Suicide is the way OUT of life, but, leaving everyone behind is the way INTO sadness.

People do not die from suicide. They die from sadness.

Murder can sometimes seem justified, but it is murder all the same. You are truthful and clear-minded--face the truth, mademoiselle! Your friend died in the last resort, because she had not the courage to live. We may sympathize with her. We may pity her. But the fact remains--the act was hers--not another.

Be gentle,always delicatewith every soulyou meet,for every single morningyou wake up,there is someoneWishing,silentlyand secretly,that theyhad not.

I graciously survived depression, mental-illness and attempt of suicide.