Not often, but
there are times
when the noise in my head
turns way up
and the dial breaks off,
and all I want is quiet,
when I feel the pull
of something terminal,
feel the dark, velvety lure
of swallowed pills or gun barrel,
the stealthy seduction of carbon monoxide,
the skull-exploding swan dive
onto shocked concrete,
the warm bath with low light and sharp blades.
I can covet that big, simple answer, too, sometimes.
I can long for that complete, forever silence.
But I know I'm only window shopping.