Suicide suicide,
not much longer til the noose is tied.
The rope snaps;
wine-glass filled with acid,
bottoms up and down the hatch;
how I long for a casket.
Not a drop makes it to my cracked lips,
maybe this knife hanging from my hips;
will perhaps do the trick.
The blade is dull and rusted;
now I linger atop a spiral staircase
flying down to meet the marble ground,
Now I wish my skull was not busted
my neck not twisted around it's base,
I scream out my pain yet there is no sound.
Suicide suicide,
I really didn't want to die.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 7:28 PM UTC
Suicide suicide,
not much longer til the noose is tied.
The rope snaps;
wine-glass filled with acid,
bottoms up and down the hatch;
how I long for a casket.
Not a drop makes it to my cracked lips,
maybe this knife hanging from my hips;
will perhaps do the trick.
The blade is dull and rusted;
now I linger atop a spiral staircase
flying down to meet the marble ground,
Now I wish my skull was not busted
my neck not twisted around it's base,
I scream out my pain yet there is no sound.
Suicide suicide,
I really didn't want to die.
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