I was out of my mind to choose this.

The hole in my side shooting me straight out.

All the flashing bulbs are like dying strobe lights.

They've come to find out they've missed the final act.

And to see the gaping wound in my head

To watch the spiders crawl out.

They're spinning webs in my sockets, weaving my lids shut.

Is it too early to say I can feel this body breaking down?

I'm whispering because I'm still here.

Get me the fuck out of this room.

I'm stuck in a cookie cutter chalk outline.

These yellow walls are too washed out.

These rows of books aren't comforting anymore.

This fluorescent lighting is hurting what is left alive to ache.

These things left behind are too common to mean anything.

This reason I thought up isn't as good as I thought it was.

Those words I left won't make those people understand enough.

All this blood on my hands doesn't look sinister enough.

They're nudging me with their boots instead of taking my pulse.

Of course they know. They're the ones that pulled the trigger.

My life was in my hands and now my palms are empty.

I'm not surprised.