Four ways out

I fell the sadness grow,
The blade in my hand,
Just four nights ago,
The shaking hand,
Not one tear though,
It held to my chest about to press,

The next night,
I see the racer blade,
Pushing on my wrist,
The same hand shaking,
This time on my wrist,
The same death note on the floor,
As the night before,

The next night,
I'm looking down 13 story's,
To a concrete death,
The note at home,
In my room,
On my bed,
My shaking legs,
Me looking down,
With a big frown,

Tonight,
The note in my pocket,
The cold gun pushing on my neck,
Me looking up,
My knee's hitting the floor,
Using both hands,
A tear falling down my check,
The first time in what seems like weeks,
As I finally hit the trigger,
Falling back hitting the floor,

I do not feel,
This is a selfish act,
To me it would be away out,
But to them it would be there biggest hell.