There are no sides in suicide.

For some soldiers, there is a greater war going on behind the gun's shadow of family and friends, than in front of the gun pointing at strange enemies.

They were shiny, shiny people that were bright like light bulbs, but there I stood out like a sore thumb, my dimness flickering self, and they saw it and removed themselves from me, forming their circle of light. Until the night died, they never noticed when the sun broke open its skull of rays, where I laid by the stop sign.

Sometimes we are that fly in the house, that thinks it sees an open window. So it crawls to, or flies head-on into clear glass. At times getting stuck between the storm and pane, it dies in the windowsill under a tormenting, hot sun.

Love has no fear, willing to take on anyone. But how much we fear love!

And she looked upon the mirror that was given as a gift. She hated everything about it, from the circular size of it, to the color, and the wooden frame that held it in place. But mostly, she hated looking at herself. Especially into this one that had a scratch on its glass surface, which would reflect back to her face. And as she looked, it would cut her as the words her father would often say, in telling her she was ugly.

Down the road of hate, at every busted corner lurks the need for love.

Fake love, is just as damaging as open hate.

Pain will come with time, but time will heal the pain.