My only good poems were to make her fall
because once she left, no one cared at all
I want to die when I find the right words
words as beautiful as the songs of birds
But I can't, the words left when she did
now I'm alone, just me and my id
The rhyme has gone, and reason has too
and so to the world, I bid you adieu
What's the point it writing a suicide note they won't read?