Six seconds
What takes that long?
You can't write yourself a letter
You can't write yourself a song
Evelyn Mc Hale...six seconds
Eighty Six Floors
Jumped from the observation deck
And now she is no more
Six Seconds
Twenty three years old
Now she's dead and buried
And it's time her tale was told
On May Day '47
She thought she'd make a rotten wife
Did she know that when she took hers
She'd make the next cover of LIFE?
It only took six seconds
To land upon the car
86 stories downward
It doesn't sound that far
Most Beautiful they called it
Like they were describing a red rose
But they were talking of a suicide
Where she lost her shoes and ripped her hose
The photo that was taken
One seen all around the world
Makes it look like she was sleeping
And still clutching at  her pearls
Six seconds to the cover
Six seconds...to the ground
when you choose to make a leap like this
Do you care who is around?
She looks calm, cool and collected
Everything was in it's place
One arm was out beside her
There was contentment on her face
The real reason she did it
Is gone forever, yes I reckon
Evelyn McHale made LIFE
And it only took six seconds.

It's a lifeline consisting of a single thread.
It's walking through the plague with a surgical mask.
It's five months down the donor list.
It's an experimental procedure at one year to live.
It's a mother praying she'll have as many children when she's fifty.

It's a kinder desperation, a nicer word.

Hope isn't a hero, as it's made out to be.
It's devastating.

Keep yourself from the rest of the world
If that's what keeps you sane,
But I hope you'll always speak your mind to me.

I don't think you know you matter,
And I know sometimes it's hard to believe,
But I hope you know you've always mattered to me.

You're rough and full of unkempt thoughts
And those are often unappreciated,
But I hope I'll always get to hear them.

Your mind must be heavy--
So heavy,
And I hope you'll let me help carry it.

Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam,
Hahaha, you ****, loser.
Stop hitting yourself!

You're such a ****.
I am gonna kick your ***.
Jesus, what a ***.

You're an ugly *****.
No one loves you-- why would they?
Just go **** yourself.

... Seriously, guys,
Bullying is not a joke.
Stand up for people.

I would greatly appreciate the kindness
Of not giving me that smug look,
As if my bad days have anything to do with you.
As if I give the smallest care about who you're with or what you'll do.

The only thing that bothers me
Is your arrogant, ignorant, crinkled, smug face.
So please, point it in some other direction.

The adventurer returned home years later,
Carrying bags of seeds, stones, and rarities.

He found that his house had been painted
Green and white.
He didn't like it.

He found that his son had been born,
And named "Jean-Baptiste."
He didn't like it.

He found that his wife had figured him dead
And remarried.
He didn't like it.

He planted her the seeds,
Built her gardens with the stones,
Gifted her the rarities,
Then smiled and left her to her happiness,
But he didn't like it.

One day I'll learn to roll my R's,
And on that day I'll wed
An Irish vigilante who
Will shoot my villains dead.

I'm riding on ideas that won't quiet down;
Ideas of someone that continues to leave.
They shine for a while, a light between trees,
Then fade like an old song with notes overplayed,
And feelings like comfort soon make me afraid.

Stuck in an attic with old, molding floors,
A witch in the corner, no windows, no doors.
The roof just above us, I crawl on all fours.

Her eyes are too wide and her hair is too red.
She says, "One can leave when the other is dead."
The only solution is cleaving her head.

I tear up the floorboards as she crawls up close.
I find flies, a knife, and a Cherokee rose.
I do the sick deed and step back in repose.

Escaped, I walk soberly back to my home.
Avoiding more danger, through green hills I comb.
I crave coffee, music, and more time alone.