If every breath brought only pain, Every meal brought only bile And endless nights brought only fright Tell me then Would you be alive? Tell me then If sin you state Is it truly murder, My death to claim? So death, old friend Our only reprieve Come pluck from your garden This lonely small weed I very much dislike it when people consider suicide to be selfish. As if, that person is not thinking of the pain of those around them when they pass, when, in reality, the guilt must have consumed them in life. When they must have kept going on, for the sake of those around them, while suffering, and that is somehow what is expected of you. Suicide is simply the result of not being able to cope with your pain. Also, I have always liked the notion of Death as a friend, who accompanies you throughout life, and takes away the pain in your darkest hour. Death, as portrayed in His Dark Materials by Phillip Pullman, which I must have read almost a decade ago as a kid, really stuck with me. Anyway, I didn't really like how this poem came out, except the last paragraph.