My pen is out of ink.
and my mind isn’t linked to reality.
I’m losing my sense of gravity
and I’m falling fast.
you wanted to make me last?
HAHA
You won’t miss my face, or my thoughts attached,
you probably won’t even have time to react.
The poison is spreading, are you ready?

lets run numb, I’ll hold onto that
Gun.
Trigger.
Pull.
now what do you figure?
Can you see what lingers?
the stench of hate, regret, and fate.
the smell of betrayal,
and on the table, etched on the corner,
is a few sober words from a loner.
Suicide? I don’t think so.
I’m just another lost soul would couldn’t fit the mold.