If you did,
how would you do it?
Toes at the edge,
ground barely visible.
One foot off,
followed by the other.
Rope laced around the neck
pulled tightly.
Chair beneath the feet
slowly kicked away.
Hand wrapped around the shaft
pressure against the temple.
Finger squeezes the trigger
out with one bullet.
Red, white and blues
mixed with tequila,
on top of more yellows
add a few shots of vodka.
Blade against flesh
dragging it across,
cutting deeper,
left to bleed.
If we wonder,
does that make us crazy?
They thought so.
Now I lay,
surrounded by screaming white walls
hands and feet bound to the bed,
wishing that that cold winter morning,
closed in the dark deserted garage,
I had left the engine running.
No comments:
Post a Comment