Why Don't I?

Why don't I just kill myself?
Already you're worrying, letting out a moan
And Questioning my mental health
As you dial 911, Fearing that I'll soon be a dial tone

Six words, the number it took to make your heart race
To make it feel hurt and gripped
By the horrible sensation of losing someone you love, out of place, 
And stripped 
of that silver lining of joy that helps you cope
With the idea of your life being wrung out and mine strung up by 5 feet of rope

Most answer the question with questions too breathless and breadthless to stop me from breathing less and seeing death, like
What's wrong?
What would I do if you die? 
Why?

"Why?" They ask me as I measure out a dose prescribed to stop my heart, bring foam to my mouth and Make the room swirl with a blind man's art

"Why?" They would ask as I climb the steps of a tall building, tears in my eyes and tears in my will, no longer willing, as I step off the ledge and wait for the moment when time stands still

"Why?" They would ask as I leap into the cold sea, my body flung
With heavy weights binding my feet together as I plunge into waves as shallow as their question and answer them with the air thrust from my lungs

And then the cacophony of heartless inquiry is pierced by a sound that rattles the grounds of my argument, and is allowed to ring loud despite the prattling of the crowd

Because my silent heart beat would bring heat to the blood of your cheeks 
And you'd feel hollow today into tomorrow as you thought about a life where my soul weren't hallowed and hailed as 'happier'

And my cold skin, lifeless, devoid of feeling or thought would feel guilty over the fact that I had brought your heartstrings to a state so taught and wrought with pain that I would be brought back to life to apologize.

So, why don't I just kill myself?
I realize now that, though this depression can sometimes drill the idea of ending this session into my mind, I couldn't bear to know I had left someone that cared like you do behind.