The Unconsciousness Poem by Timothy Long

The energy we reside, nothing can hide, never ask the history of another, it will haunt you so! They say love is a form of suicide...if so is hate a way tell life I quit? Sadness helps people cope when nothing is left but a decayed heart, even lacking a reason of death, those who walk the solitude of night will heal once more, two problems could set in the way I suppose, suicide, an easy fix, or cutting...a horrid solution, the heart hold a lot of rein, is a right to cry, only there is something so great and terrible about the ordeal, if given the chance why do so? It only leaves pain with no consciousness, it would be to hard to think, so well I sink, drifting, dropping, wondering, thinking, never did anyone kill themselves when it was all right, something unnamed was wrong, feeling your showing the world your superior by leaving it, knowing it left you behind long ago, breathing today, of the past the right nerve wasn't cut, what upsurge, I understand now, almost...why one's would jump off a bridge.