Diane's brother wrote a poem about her death.

This is a poem written by photographer Diane Arbus' brother for her death after Diane's death, a poem in 1971.

Dear, I don't know before I die/do you want to play children's games-I believe you have played them/in the game, you run along a narrow flower wall/you regard the wall as a ridge/its wings are immersed in the snow/unfathomable ...

Believe that in this world, someone may die of depression every minute. Just because their bodies contain chemical components that form complex amines, the normal standard amount is not enough. So photographer Diane Arbus, as usual, stripped off her clothes, sank to the bottom of the water and cut her pulse in the bathtub.

blood dyed the water sensual pink. It's a mass to be diluted. There may be many people around you. But when you need them most, they are usually not there. Or at that time, you didn't need any. No one can bring salvation. Her body, like those who are deeply autistic in depression, was found rotting.