The Little Book of Suicide, or, How I Love Life Due to Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy three small notebooks lay inert next to the body a doctor-turned-revolutionary they had colored covers as everything does green blue and red earth sky and water inside were poems inscribed by hand my single notebook contains lined paper and a simple black for the color of the cover I carry it with me there are a thousand iterations on the theme of self-loathing it grows less profound with repetition less descriptive it lacks an essential humor so I looked to the world my world I found new forms pulled them into my notebook my eternal diagnostic companion Let me scratch it with a pen again again again who's counting? For the greater good, for healing, I embrace my ineptitude. I sing it. **PROS** **CONS** It could help me heal. I could heal into a bigger idiot. I could have more energy. I could use that energy to write worse verses. I could be more productive. In capitalism, a beaten dog asks for more work. I could be more attractive. People might talk to me more. I could become healthier. I might live longer.