a sense of joy and then a panic

People say that those who talk about wanting to kill themselves just
want attention
and I think that's true
and that I might start interjecting all my posts, and all my letters and my rants, with
I WANT TO DIE
because then I'm sure to get a reaction

even to the posts that are not about my life in the slightest, but are about my
writing
and my head
(what people say they care about)
not other people's words with suicidal intent
(what they actually care about)
but my words, mine
even though my words are the ones usually skipped over
because,
you know,
"I just don't get it", and
"I have nothing to say"
although, dear reader, you will fly to my side if
I WANT TO DIE

as if the ending of my physical life is the one that would kill me,
as if my stories are not the most important part of me
as if their being ignored is not
what makes me post poems that might be seen as suicidal
in the first place

and if you really wanted to know how I was -
me, the real soul inside this mortal body -
all you have to do is read
and you would make me a new person
maybe one that wouldn't drown in her own stories,
gagging on "blood" and "bitterness"

it's funny, you know, I wonder,
if I just interjected all my stories with
I WANT TO DIE
then maybe they would be bestsellers