Death on my floor.

By: your sweet suicide

I find myself on the bathroom floor,

Pretending my water is cyanide,

And only drinking half,

What more can you ask for,

When your life has little meaning,

No color,

No rhythm to your heart beat,

I can pace myself for death,

When my time runs short,

Blood on the floor,

No concern anymore,

When things come to worst,

I live, and I live,

To only find out,

I should be dead.