it's a dying kind of day
when the sky is too grey
for me to bother
going out for some sun
to take away
the midsummer chill
I don't know how
the rest of you do it

suicide, you may say,
is no answer
but when the glamour
outweighs the consequences
it's time to find a gallows
for my rope

when I'm bleeding
from old wounds
when I'm seething
because it's true
that I never was
right about anything
then it's a dying
kind of day

it's a dying kind of day
when fantasies crumble
within reality's rough fist
and the cake won't rise
so I retreat to pantry staples
for all of my meals
and none of my nutrients
I feed my cravings and not my body

you say suicide
is no answer
but I never asked a question
that needed one

it's no time to be alive
when I can't kill the flies
it takes no time at all
for me to forget what day it is
there's no time for time to fly
but we can fix this if we die

suicide, you may say,
is no answer
but when the glamour
outweighs the consequences
it's time to find a gallows
for my rope
it's time to find a gallows
for my rope.

© Jess Zelhart, 2005. Thou shalt not steal.