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as a bead slides down my cheek,
and you watch as i cry,
i can only help but wonder
how the best way i should die.
i wonder if a rope would do,
to end my sorry life,
as the reaper comes at deaths end
and takes me with a scythe.
or maybe pills of sleepers dream
and a white plastic bag,
or maybe thrown into the water
tied up with a gag.
prehaps it should be slit wrists
slowely bleeding in my bed,
and the sheets and carpet from my blood
will be forever a dark red.
maybe to the bridge i take
and jump high off of the side,
and then i might feel better,
for all the nights i cried.
maybe i should shoot myself
my head be blown away,
and a bloodied mass be only left
where i had once layed.
but i dont suppose you'd really care
which route i wished to take,
because i know you do not care
from what my life you make.
you helped yourself in vain and greed
and all else that you dared
and now i see it all in truth
that you never really cared.


i wrote this this morning before school started. i was very sad.