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Description
Dying has never seemed more imaginary.
And the choice to jump seems so arbitrary.
Ive never wandered in the lust of bleeding.
The blade of the knife never taste so appealing.
I never anticipated that noose to break.
A final prayer is the sinners mistake.
Sleeping in the graveyard with inevitable death.
To want to kiss the gun, to steal your breath.
To laugh with god, or to spit at his feet.
A final meal of cheap wine, with pills to eat.
To beg for salvation while the thunders roaring.
To question the value of another morning.
Bleeding gently so god-fearers may sleep.
A media tragedy, named “the boy up the street.”

Description
Dying has never seemed more imaginary.
And the choice to jump seems so arbitrary.
Ive never wandered in the lust of bleeding.
The blade of the knife never taste so appealing.
I never anticipated that noose to break.
A final prayer is the sinners mistake.
Sleeping in the graveyard with inevitable death.
To want to kiss the gun, to steal your breath.
To laugh with god, or to spit at his feet.
A final meal of cheap wine, with pills to eat.
To beg for salvation while the thunders roaring.
To question the value of another morning.
Bleeding gently so god-fearers may sleep.
A media tragedy, named “the boy up the street.”