It probably won't make much sense to you. Again, not about suicide. It's not a goodbye, more of a memories. If you care enough to ask, I will gladly explain.
Paper scraps, tatteredand ripped by
The vicious attacks of
Skeletons in my closet.
Supposed to decay, held in by my back... Trying to keep them OUT...
Thrown away the key. Fetched by the dog curled at my feet.
Chewing it's bone happily. Rekaxing...
My coffin is built by
remorseful sticks, bleached by the sun.
Fingernails on the floor, wishing to
SCRATCH SCRATCH against
the pale skin and flesh of my face.
Maybe, gently, I sleep soft and die,
or, BLEEDING MAROON DEATH,
Screaming and wishing,
IT
WOULD
ALL
GO
AWAY!
A me, that should have been?
Time is ticking.
FIND ME,
Before...
Rocking chairs
Fruitcakes
Daytime television.
