“Even then I have nothing against life.
I know well the grass blades you mention the furniture you have placed under the sun.
But suicides have a special language.
Like carpenters they want to know which tools.
They never ask why build.
Still – born they don´t always die,
but dazzled, they can´t forget a drug so sweet
that even children would look up and smile.
leaving the page of a book carelessly open,
something unsaid, the phone off the hook
and the love, whatever it was, an infection.”
Anne Sexton – Waiting to die