“They ruled it a suicide.
But surely it was homicide.
The social pressures of the world I surmised became way too heavy, the repressed memory of abuse exploded suddenly, which out poured from his eyes and found high tide in his own blood.
He was discarded by hands promising to catch him. He was received by the phantoms that attacked him. He knew not the art of war, nor the art of love, to change his tactics, so his own blade had found his skin. His legs collapsed under him and he plunged into the dark, into the undefined spaces of his fragile heart.
Did you hear his call?
Did you know his plight?
Those silent whispers in the night are heard not, but by attentive ear. Those who have secretly battled their fears and trails, leaving upon them a power unaware.” –