Dancing in shadows in tandem as
Silhouettes move and cold hands
Caress the smooth silk of her dress
They slowly move upward and
Tighten around her throat
The noose she always dreamed of
With hopes and dreams fading into

Take the leap, grip the razor
But there will be no music or flashbacks,
No hero with impeccable timing just
A red droplet in the current of time and
Everyone will move on from mourning
It isn’t admirable, nor will it earn adoration
Or praise, or that for which she seeks
Her intentions were misguided and now there’s
Nothing left.

She fell in love with an idea so romanticized,
So sought after for the wrong reasons
With ambitions to be hailed as a martyr
But really, worms will last longer than the
Memories as they feast on her corpse
Nothing is romantic about suicide
As the rancid husk of what’s left
Will ebb into

Author’s Words for Thought

I lay in bed, for hours in the dark, at night, thinking about every possible thing I fucked up in my life.”