Standing upon this lonely hill;
With only an old tree for company,
I cry.
Knowing I have to go through with it this time,
No going back.
All this judgment and pain,
I'm tired of pretending I'm OK all the time,
My tears are starting to show,
And my smile is fading away.
My knuckles are white from gripping this length of rope.
I stand still,
The breeze pulling my hair back,
I look down at the cemetery I'll soon be buried in.
A hint of a smile,
I quickly smother it,
For they will see my body hanging from the tree,
And they will smile and bury me,
Not even sparring me a second thought.
I turn my back on the cemetery,
And walk slowly to my death.
Reaching the trunk of the tree,
I lean my forehead against it's strong, wide, wise trunk.
I draw a breath,
Hoping I may somehow draw strength from this tree.
I grip the bottom branch and climb.
Climbing the tree like an elf,
I climb to the topmost branch.
And I sit upon it.
I tie one end of the rope to the branch tightly,
I tie the other end to my neck.
I take one last look at the world,
Be for leaping to my death
And then I am forever still.
