The Most Gentle Murder

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Another attempt but this one will be my last.
As I look up, I see no light yet dawn has past,
the cloud from the night before had left me a mess -
ending my heart beat is my life's only success.

Enclosed in stained clothes, my hair lay there all but neat
not grazed by a comb in weeks; I play with a blade.
Burnt matches crawl on skin like dirty hands. Discrete
insomnia, I tell death not to be delayed.

Tears could now not touch my eyes as I wonder would
this come as a surprise? reality above
my pointless apologies, I felt the key of
death hit only when on the horizon I stood.

Before I fall to willing death, the most gentle
murder is my suicide. Only one rule to abide:
explicative note. Tell them that I have no hope.
Coincidental stop, your arms put plans aside.

Now my actions are obsolete, life not finite.
Postponed is my last breath, I am now the elite
living with their ashes in foreign eyes. Each blink
tells you alone read my bones before I could sink.  

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