About suicide:

My time in prison was colored by many experiences, but none was as chilling as my experience with Nathan. His full name was Nathan Giogiani. He was here for a killing. But no one could imagine that he did what they say he did. He was small and drifted to the back of every room. How could Nathan be a killer? In the cell block I lived in, Nathan was on the same tier as me. The impression he left on my time, would change my life forever. Trying to find the words for how I felt afterward, this is what I wrote:

“Nathan”

Nathan was weak,
Nathan was small,
Nathan was different,
Nathan was lost

Nathan always sat at the same table
far end of the room, corner spot.
The way he sat
you would have thought
he was always cold.

He had small glasses
and tiny wrists
and always walked with
his shoulders slumped
like a pale little bird

He was always pushing
his tiny glasses back up
and clearing his throat
like he was getting ready
to say something really important
and then changing his mind

When Nathan cut his wrists
the other killer laughed at him
for getting blood all over his room

Pictures of people who cared
stuck to the ground
with Nathan’s blood

Nathan was weak,
Nathan was small
Nathan was different,
Nathan was lost.

And when Nathan cut his wrists,
he couldn’t even do that right.

When they asked him why he did it?
He pushed his glasses up
cleared his throat
got ready to say
something really important
and then changed his mind.

Days passed,
and soon everyone forgot
what Nathan had done,
but Nathan hadn’t forgot.

Nathan was weak,
Nathan was small,
Nathan was different,
Nathan was lost.

And when they found
Nathan swinging
from an extension cord
nobody laughed
because Nathan was gone.