Suicide

timothy long

sitting down, 
with a hand over the mouth, 
just thinking, 
what to do next, 
die or keep fighting? 
a rope tied up in the ceiling and the chair under it, 
suffering and pain going angst hand in hand, 
never to think again  clearly, 
sleep does well to soothe the soul but not the pain, 
cutting not a lot but temporary relief, 
stopping the hurt was what i wanted, 
alone doesn't matter, 
but from the betrayal of so called best friends, 
the advantage is to be loyal, 
not to satisfy, 
around the neck and kick the chair, 
'snap'
was all left, 
sounding sleep forever peacefully, 
pain is now gone for ever.