Death is my wire
And it holds my frame
Tightly against
My brain.

You got Summer on her way
With blood flooding her eyes,
A misery song being sung
As the day melts and
Night becomes gray.

A corpse is nothing
But a product of
Ones own existence-
To slave or be killed
Without love,
Mercy.

What is purpose but a memory
Dipped into a bucket of oozing
Thoughts crawling out of the depths
Of my very own heart and soul?

What is death but a happy note
Taken by the student as
Something to consider and
Something to choose-
An answer to a question?

It holds my brain together but
I'm determined to be graced
By this simple deed.
If not now then maybe
Someday from my own hand.

That is all I got, afterall.