The cold steel of a knife pressed against my wrists
The thick rope tied around my neck as I clench my fists.
The wobbling chair underneath me from which I will jump
The cold concrete below on which my body will thump.
The pills that I drink a hundred at a time
To end this life that I live, is that choice mine?
I can't take it anymore I don't want to live
The longer I live the less I have to give
I know I am needed but I need as well
I have nothing at all don't you see, what the hell?
I am suffering in this so called life if mine
Can I end all that pain simply with a nine?
What more must I deal with? What lies ahead?
Will I wake tomorrow morning? Or will I finally be dead?
