Loneliness is the weapon of suicide;
She brandishes it proudly, as a knight his sword.
It thrives on torture of it's victims, sadness it's only ally;
Wounds cry tears, not blood.
A victim spends it's years in fear and self-loathing;
The light at the end of the tunnel getting further and further away.
Their friends are either imaginary, oblivious or afraid.
They have no-one but their old and most faithful friend, loneliness.
One victim's final words, someone I knew quite well were -
"How do I escape? There's no ESC key.
No neon EXIT sign for a worthless life.
Just four bare walls... And a gun, my weapon of choice.
The trigger is my ESCape key.
The cold barrel is my EXIT sign."
Murdered without trial, by a society that rejects their bravery;
And some try and say they will go to Hell for the ultimate sin.
That it is the coward's final act.
But I ask this of you...
What are they to do when options have run dry?
It is us that are the cowards.
We sit by and let loneliness draw it's sword, or it's gun, or build it's cliff.
And like a leach will drop off when it's full, loneliness consumes the heart of it's host.
And all we can say is a cold and empty "why?'
To sum up a lost ones life, our questioning nature I guess.
But answers don't always have to be found;
The hardest ones are usually staring us right in the face.
