Poem: 36

note: Puebla, Mexico. 6 months... 36 suicides.
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One, two... look around, you're alone, and she's alone, too.

Three, four... just once more, no one's knocking at your door.

Five, six... in the night, no one can hear your soul cry.

Seven, eight... look again, find your name written on the grave.

Nine, ten.. take the rope, the knife, find some bullets for your ride.

Eleven, twelve... hear the cry, silently, feel the chocking 'round your neck.

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen... all those years, screaming... no one seemed to hear.

Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen... you're grown up, yet you feel like letting go.

Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, counting is useless when you're lifeless on the ground.

Twenty-one, twenty-two... listen to me, too!

Twenty-three... You don't feel.

Thirty-three... You're not free.

Thirty-six... almost, almost here.

Thirty-six were the souls... lost without return.