A Suicide Serenade

W e  can be selfish together, no rue.

You want to die, and I want'cha to.

This isn't a lie, "do what you wanna do."

We'll sing a suicide serenade, just for y o u.

Too motivated

to fuck the world

and end their life,

determined

to even the score

with selfish strife,

infatuated

with the blame game

by way of knife,

and that's

why they wasted away

without a fife.

Wife,

husband,

son and daughter,

remnants

of

self-sacrificing

slaughter,

a bullet

to the head

never made 'em hotter,

yet washing blood

takes more than w a t e r.

Squatter damned

for being unhomely,

living the days

soul-suckingly lonely,

so they poured gasoline around

slowly,

to be cleansed

by the fire

like the holy.

W e can be selfish together, no rue.

You want to die, and I want'cha to.

This isn't a lie, "do what you wanna do."

We'll sing a suicide serenade, just for y o u.

Brewed a batch

that amounts to overdose,

the vomit

on the floor

their adios,

body positioned

a bit bellicose,

good thing

they weren't aiming

for comatose.

Cellulose

built by

binges at the fridge,

made 'em feel

as insignificant

as a midge,

and sent them crying

along the ridge,

until they hurled their body

off a b r i d g e.

Smidges of truth

in the lies over tea,

making

the depression

a bit weighty,

compressing

the care

to even sight-see,

so they hanged themselves

from an oak tree.

W e  can be selfish together, no rue.

you want to die, and I want'cha to.

This isn't a lie, "do what you wanna do."

We'll sing a suicide serenade, just for y o u.

|| another_proser ||

{ Comments, feedback, concerns, opinions all welcome.

* midge = small fly, smaller than a mosquito.}