Feeling S-ui-cidal

It's so hard to talk
When you want to kill yourself.
That's above and beyond everything else,
And it's not a mental complaint,
It's a physical thing,
Like it's physically hard
To open your mouth
And make the words come out.
They don't come out smooth
And in conjunction with your brain
The way normal people's words do;
They come out in chunks
As if from a crushed-ice dispenser;
You stumble on them
As they gather behind your lower lip.
So you just keep quiet.