Chapter 25: ways (trigger warning)
Constantly plotting my own suicide.
Maybe It would be better if I just died.
I could shoot myself right under the chin,
Or I could take a shotgun right to my grin.
I could cut a big chunk of my wrist off,
I could even Bite it and twist off.
I could bang my head against a wall,
Or splatter from a couple thousand foot fall.
I could go in public with a 45,
Or maybe get a little entrails on my knife.
This would put my ass in prison all my life,
I'd just kill myself with a cell-made knife.
I could enhale and swallow my entire tongue,
By the time I'm dead I won't look young.
I could jump onto my head and make it
explode,
Or hold in my breath until I implode.
I could shut the hell up and just keep quiet,
So that in my peers,
I don't start a riot.
I fear that I will always think like this,
I'm the one who feeds into the abyss.
Don't think I'd drown myself, not a fun death.
Could die from poison before my last breath.
Many ways I could keep going on.
It'll keep on circulating like the chorus in a
song.
I'll be dead not before long,
but for now I suppose I'll keep moving on.
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