My entire life is through a noose,
An endless, vicious cycle of torment and regret
Onwards on a journey of finding the golden goose,
A fork in the road, many call fate-
Soon enough the ‘is’ will be ‘was’
What does it take to kill oneself?
Remorse? Pity? Self-retribution?
Or is that the chapter needs to an end.
The pages need to be left blank; the book needs to be closed-
The road has to have a stop…
A chair and a noose;
Come see me stand on it and hang,
To the other side of chasing the yellow goose
Go out with a bang
In the one, final act of mine;
I don’t give a shit about critics
Keep them coming on line
‘coz I won’t be here to hear them talk-
Maybe slitting my veins is a better option,
Spare me some pain,
The path may be different,
The destination all the same.
Death’s not an easy bargain.
For everything is in death’s hand,
‘tis the hand wherein I’ll lie-
In peace or in pieces, only time will tell.
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