The Needle and the Damage Done

The thought of a quick death,
And a needle in my hand.
I stare at the ceiling
With tears burning my eyes,
The damage will be done soon...
My heart will race no more
And I won't cry again.
One sharp prod into my vein,
Past the point of o return,
And I'll only visit you
In your dreams
(or nightmares).
Oh happy needle,
Rust in me and be filled with joy.
For you hold much valor
For the damage you have done.