The Game

I wish I had the courage,
to use the knives I love.
Twist them through my fingers,
Pierce my skin with a light shove.

Find my daddy's pistol,
and point it at my skull.
Find the small black trigger,
and give it a little pull.

Or maybe tie a rope,
from the bannisters in the shed.
Kick the chair out from beneath me,
And hang there by a thread.

Open the medicine cupboard,
and take once of each pill.
I was told to never mix them,
this is the biggest thrill.

Every minute of the day,
these thoughts run through my head.
So no surprise it comes to me,
That I'd rather be dead.