Suicide in Sweden:
It’s cold, like the knife that glides across skin. Bleeding out, but it’s always there. And it cracks beneath me, the ice cracks beneath me. I’m sorry I didn’t say more, I’m sorry I couldn’t say more. My fingers they go numb, unlike the mind that always has been. I wanted to say everything, and I wanted to say nothing, all at the same time. And yeah, I wanted to say everything, was it better that I said nothing?