Safe Place

I keep things to myself.  Telling others your deepest thoughts is just asking for trouble.  Here’s how I think about it.  The minute I tell someone I’m thinking about dying, people begin calling “foul.  This man wants to die.  He’s suicidal call the cops.”  The fact is I was actually thinking about dying, the act and pain of the act.  I question “What is next after dying?  Do I face a haloed choir with Pat Boone wearing his white buck shoes and a pink carnation?”  Hence, I say nothing to no one.  I cover myself with cynicism.  It is my comforter and my safe place.