When thirty seconds have ticked by
I will have learned to die.
The voices, pounding in my head,
tell me that I must be dead.
And within my hand I hold a flower
Sequined with autumn shower
That tells me not to dread
A bullet in my head.

When twenty seconds have ticked by
I promise not to cry—
I promise not to pull the trigger
Until I’m ready to fly.
These voices, pounding in my head
Tell me to paint my shower red.

Upon the rusted grass
Beneath the flaming sky,
Drowning in the oceans frothy tide
I must meet the muddy, bloody sheet
that is sucking at my feet.

When ten seconds have have ticked past
This breath will have been my last.
The metal feels cool against my head
The promise of a life where we are still wed.
From my hand I drop the flower—

I pull the trigger
And become part of something bigger.