Whenever Richard Cory went down town, We people on the pavement looked at him: He was a gentleman from sole to crown, Clean-favoured and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed, And he was always human when he talked; But still he fluttered pulses when he said, “Good Morning!” and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich, yes, richer than a king, And admirably schooled in every grace: In fine — we thought that he was everything To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked and waited for the light, And went without the meat and cursed the bread, And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, Went home and put a bullet in his head.

By Edwin Arlington Robinson

This poem is one of my favorites, because it reminds me so much of how delicate a life can be. Like Richard Cory, sometimes you just don’t expect someone to kill themselves. Sometimes you just don’t see the warning signs. I learned from season four of Skins, in Sophia’s story, that it’s sometimes the last thing you see coming. A lot of people keep a double life, they act one way with family and another with friends. Some just don’t see the point in it though. They keep everything to themselves. Their struggles, their feelings. Bottling things up isn’t mentally healthy, though. It can cause depression, which can lead to suicide. Most people commit suicide out of the feeling of either wanting to “take the burden of their lives off of everyone else” or to end their either emotional or physical pain. Suicidal people should take others into consideration, though. Nothing could be that bad that you have to take yourself out someone who lives you’s life.

I’m sure that I will always be A lonely number like root three. The three is all that’s good and right, Why must my three keep out of sight? Beneath the viscous square root sign I wish instead I were a nine. For nine could thwart this evil trick With just some quick quick arithmetic. I know I’ll never see the sun as 1.7321. Such is my reality, A sad irrationality. When hark! What is this I see? Another square root of a three? As quietly co-waltzing by, Together now we multiply To form a number be prefer, Rejoicing as an integer. We break free from our mortal bonds With the wave of magic wands. Our square root signs become unglued Your love for me has been renewed.

By David Feinberg