Confined,
within self forged walls
I lie barren,
next to the casket
sprayed with gore drenched lilies,
holding back for my ménage
to finish thine rosaries.

The walls,
they be besieging
while the roof
be plummeting,
fast enough
to swallow me,
while I lie flat,
and arms open
to embrace my long lost love,
my demise.

With every dawn,
I flirt with the edge of the roof
reckoning,
if a fall would vow
for my killing.
With the rise of dusk,
I pull out the knife
concealed under my pillow,
caressing the edges
gauging
the number of slits
enough to free my wrist.

Tonnes,
Tonnes of ways to die.
Yet that one voice
from within
that desists me,
wrests me from my collar
and murmurs in my ear
"Don't die fella,
is she worth it?
don't give her the pleasure."
Heaps,
Heaps of reasons to kill myself,
yet I take a deep breath
Light on my reefer
and tell myself
"Yes, I am suicidal
but probably I won't die, not today".

©thewordplayer