To Die as a Toy

I don't know what I was thinking
Reading about the youngest suicides of earth

Only a few of them do they give names
Middle of the night laptop light on solitary face

Airy surrender to reading of these people
Who down-voted earth

At the most unimaginable ages
Six or four or eight

Too young to leave a note
In most instances

But we have all been them
Died forever for a moment

Even as a child buffeted
Who could not think abstractly

But we could suffer
Luckier than the animals

In a slaughterhouse painted red
Because one's choice is

These souls are not counted as "true suicides"
Until they can legally express

Because everything is laws
Which trump truth every time

And an animal that runs off a cliff to escape
We always call it an "accident"

We steal its soul again