The chair's been kicked, a rope tied to the rafters,
blue-faced and broken-necked I die.
Relieving my vision from the sick [bad word] stare of that hated sun burning the sky.
Slumped like a headless scarecrow, cold and limp against the wall.
Blood paints a pattern of Rorschach's design,
thawing the winter that burdens this heart.

 [bad word] stained and shameful, an exit in disgrace.
Not a splash but just a ripple left, I end this life in vain.

In the dead of the darkness I breach the still lake,
toward the reflection of the moon.
The night-colored liquids arresting my lungs,
finally at peace in this watery tomb.

Destroy this fragile body to be gorged upon by worms.
Not a splash but just a ripple is left in the wake of my merciless scorn.

Beyond those cursed stars above lies the answer that I seek.
On the backs of bullets rides my name, longing to kiss my cheek.
Resentfully decline, retire this hated life.
Without guilt I break these veins, carved with salvation's knife.

Turn not away, avert not your face, this is how it was meant to be.
In silence found hanging there 'bove a pool of waste,
the beauteous workings of mortality.
No one can [bad word] touch another parallel never to cross.
Pointless, fumbling, sad mistake only capable of pain.

Beyond those cursed stars above lies the answer that I seek.
On the backs of bullets rides my name, longing to kiss my cheek.
Resentfully decline, retire this hated life.
Without guilt I break these veins, carved with salvation's knife