Sometimes it's enough difficult to get rid of gloomy thoughts,
And if the darkness climb to the soul,
Here you mainly suppress at all
In order not to get in its charms
And not to accept the offer to give up your life.
Cost life was given only once
And a lot of happens in it.
But mortal hour of suicide
Comes very of ten to each life
And if life isn't dear
Or you don't see any sense in it
And if it suddenly stooped,
Gives only disappointment and pain
Then, probably, there is sense in it
Which won't set free;
If you don't resist
Everything will happen quickly.
It's possible to swallow tablets or make one shot,
To cut veins or to thrust
A head in a loop
And that's all...
And everything, that was earlier, costs nothing at all.
The soul won't find rest, will stay eternally there,
Where your last step was made.
There will be no affair up to those terrestrial peripetias,
Which you have left in your life, but have not won.
Only natives will be tormented, not understanding,
Why has died so suddenly, having left only agonal note,
In which has wished to leave, not noticing sense of further life.
It's only the formal reply.
Force is necessary to keep life – everyone should have it,
And one, who hasn't – dies and, maybe, ceases to suffer.

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