Suicide...

Suicide

The funny thing about suicide,
Is it never goes as planned.
It's all worked out in your mind,
But never works on demand.
Slit your wrist and draw some blood,
But nowhere near enough,
To end all your misery,
And get rid of the bad stuff.
So you try time and time again,
No matter how bad it hurts.
All it does is make
Your wrists reassert.
Let the people guess,
But still they can not help.
Whenever you hurt yourself,
No-one hears the high-pitch yelp.
You carry on with a life
That you don't want to live.
You try to get attention,
But no-one wants to give.
There is no help,
For someone as twisted as you.
Your only help is
To do what you gotta do.
End it for once and all,
Let it all disappear.
To a mysterious place called heaven
Or down below somewhere.
No-one wants to know you,
So leave them all alone.
Maybe there'll see how it feels,
To always be so unknown.
Hopefully heaven will be your dream,
You just have to get through the gate.
Or down below you go,
To determine your afterlife fate.
So even life is worse than hell,
We distinguished that already.
But depends what hell you live in.
It's unpredictable where you go, so you better be ready.