I put my pen to paper
and then I strung the noose.
I wrote a verse of poetry
but the rhythm was too loose.

with every failing word choice
my spelling sets my fate.
I birth the death of merry self
, I've been quite useless of late

and each day eagerly
my heart circles the well
dreaming of the silent bliss
of death's inviting spell

so I cast the pen to barren thoughts
in a vast mind without cause
and smoke the very paper
that saves me from remorse

I fell into this darkened pit
and smoked myself to death
,for half the time i swear I smell
the stench of failure on my breath