After This

You hold the gun
As you hold the knife.
Grab the bullets
As you grab the note.
You can't decide how to die tonight.
Either by bullet, by blade,
By rope, by acid,
You lay your choices on the table.
In your hands you hold the gun,
To your right is the knife.
Already tied up is the rope,
And in a glass some poison.
Doesn't matter how to you,
You just want to end it,
You have an hour,
Till they come home.
You have to make your decision fast.
Not the knife,
You tell yourself,
Don't want blood spilled onto the floor,
Not the acid,
You tell yourself,
Between the bullets or the noose.
So you get on the stool,
Below the rope,
Slip your neck into the noose.
Hold the gun in your hands,
And hold it tight,
Till your knuckles turn white.
You take a deep breath,
This is the end,
Nothing after this, no.
You pull the trigger,
As you kick the stool.
And nothing's after this,
No.