Smoke Colored Bench

suicide notes

My fingers long to type

But im frozen in fear

I feel the cold barrel against my ear

Urging myself to just type

One last message before i go

Bed crumbs to the truth

But I don't know the truth

I feel my finger twitch

But it's hovering near my face

One hand is on the keyboard

But i long to run away

For i have lost

I thought it would be easy

Make the rules

Live by your own game

But i built my throne

On lies

The bones of my kills

Held together by my blood

Yet here I am

Holding a gun

Waiting for my own death

Yet im worrying about a suicide note

I guess even the mental know how to care

For all the wrong reasons