Mom and dad are on speed dial. The phone rings, and mom answers, I love you, momma, dad answers, I forgive you, dad.

Knife to my wrist, and I slit piece by piece. Gun to my head, finger on the trigger. Bullet pieces my brain as blood pours out like a fountain. Head faced to the mirror.

Mom and dad rush home, the ambulance already there; dad falls to his knees as mom breaks down in dad’s arms. Paramedic speaks, but mom’s ears are blocked as dad listens, mom’s eyes fixed on my tatted body.

I lay in this tub as my blood slowly pours from my wrist, such that I bathe in my blood. Lines on my wrist, count 1, count 2, forward to 10.

Barcode on my arm shows the years I cried. Lines cover my arms and down, lines on my legs. Dad stays strong, but inside is shattered; mom will never be the same.

Finger on the trigger, blade in my hand, as my body sits in this tub. COD: suicide, note plastered on the window. Head faced to read the letter, an indication of the pain I endured.

Brokenness in the eyes of my mom, as my father was on his knees praying for a safe journey. Father’s first prayer in years, mommy’s first tear shed for her child as I am removed from the tub.

Brother comes home, encounters mom on the floor, dad in tears, and the ambulance walk out. Black bag in hand, drenched with tears and blood.

Jason finds his brother’s phone. Message from her soulmate, “babe, what’s happening? I see red lights outside your house.” Jason responds: “it’s too late.”

Soulmate walks through the door and drops to her feet, chocolate in her hand and card in the other, “Happy one month anniversary.”

No money for a tombstone, dad sells his car, no money for the burial, mom sells her rings. No money for themselves, brother drops out of school.

Day by day, mom looks at a photo of her child in her mirror, day by day dad looks at a photo of his child in his wallet, day by day brother cries himself to sleep in the bathtub where his brother took their final breath.

Day by day, her brother slowly slits his wrist. Covers it up with long sleeves, tears in his eyes, and pain in his voice as he wears a facade. Mask breaks apart piece by piece yet he smiles.

He takes the blade, to his throat. Holds it there as he record’s a message for his mom, his dad, and or his fiancée. He puts down the blade as he record’s the last message.

He plays the song dedicated to his brother. His mom hears the song and rushes to the bathroom. Halfway through his mother removes the blade from his neck. She tries to stop the bleeding…

Eyes rolling, hands stop shaking as the blood flow slowly decreases, tears from mom’s eyes fill the tub as dad drops again to his knees. Praying once again is all he can do for his son.

Mom goes out to buy flowers for her son’s funerals and sleeping pills for herself. She goes to the room and the bottle is finished before she gets to bed.

Husband wakes up to kiss his wife on the forehead as she turns as cold as ice. His voice dropped as he hold his wife screaming. He no longer smiles, he no longer laughs.

The trauma he suffered one cannot bear without support. He locks himself in his room slowly wasting his life away. Pain in his eyes as he slowly breaks apart piece by piece.

He buried his sons, he buried his spouse. He buried himself the other same day. He will never be the same.