My first and last resort has always been pills,
In the face of a fight, I’d rather run to the hills.
I’m not afraid of death; it’s like meeting a new friend,
I’m only afraid of the pain that will come in the end.
Maybe it’s time to strengthen my mind, bend my own will,
If I want to die, I have to be willing to kill.
I have felt the edge of a blade skimming over my skin,
And I have tightened the rope until I couldn’t breathe in.
But that final plunge has always eluded my grasping hands,
My body unwilling to comply with my demands.
My legacy to be left to this world is nothing but dirt, trash, and crap…
So what is keeping me, what is holding me back?
They say taking your life is a coward’s way out,
"They" being the ones afraid of the reapers.
But it is the ones who have succeeded that are strong,
The ones who I see as true believers.
They believe that whatever comes after death,
Can’t be any worse than what we survive each day,
Can’t get any worse than the previous chapter,
No matter what "they" try to convey.
Heaven or Hell, paradise or purgatory,
My belief is a simple one,
There are no pearly gates or flaming walls hotter than the sun.
No God to judge me a betrayer,
No angels to weigh my sins,
There’s nothing but rotting flesh and decaying skin.
The guilt of the living, the survivors, is what keeps us here,
More so than any imaginary fears.
"Why would you do this to those that love you, those you love?"
"Where were you when I needed you? Giving me the final shove?"
I will take no guilt with me, peace is what I go to find,
And I will no longer worry about those that I leave behind.