Notes on Suicide

What the fuck is the point,
Why the fuck should I care,
There’s nothing more for me out there,
No solice to last, no thrill, no real blast,
No life-joy, fun-filled, exhilarating high,
No self-destructive, suicidally-depressive low,
That I haven’t already tasted, seen, heard felt,
Why, into this carpet, can’t I just melt,
To each Russell his music,
To Ruthie, love of life,
To Elil reality acted,
To father, just more strife,
But I don’t have that je ne sais quoi,
That joie de vivre, or other quota,
It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s all a pile of shit,
Even Ian has a life, though it’s pure flip,
Where is my hole, my soul in the ground,
When will I ever get off this merry-go-round.

Let the candles burn low,
Let my heart bleed dirt,
No more will I cry,
Never again will I hurt,
This ugly thing called life,
An abomination, no, more, an abortion of hope,
And again in the darkness I grope,
Like a sad easter bunny, searching blindly for one last egg,
I fell too deeply, now broke my leg,
And noone may help me, nor hear my lost soul beg,
For loneliness is my only friend, and in the end I’m dead.

But death is too good, too final for me,
The nine billion monkeys would no longer be laughing with glee,
They would have lost their plaything,
In dying I hope, the end is the end,
Another life would be hell,
And it would all begin again with the last toll of the bell.

Death is too easy for me pray-tell,
No last chance saloon or horror hotel,
Nothing nightmarish but what’s in my own head,
Don’t cry for me, I’ve made my own bed.

I sacrifice everything, and nothing at all,
For life is really simple, look on the wall,
In blood will be written; when all angels fall,
The end is the beginning,
As winter follows fall,
The forest is empty,
The trees have all died,
The wood is all hollow,
The three woodsmen have cried.

Tears won’t outlast a true nature’s beast,
And rest is eternal for nothing at least,
Not in this lifetime or the next,
Not my smiling face putting demon’s to rest.

For as we all know truth is power,
And the only lasting truth will be known in my last hour,
But to know, to want, to feel, to have,
These are the things that can only make us sad,
Cry tears for our children for they do no know,
The loss that we give them is the bottomless hole,
That black empty cradle of deathless light,
That in its bright shining cripples all night.

There is no more to say to this babble,
Rise up above the shit all ye rabble,
And take what is yours from my own pompous lips,
You can have it with my blessings, it’s really a pile of useless shit.

But then again,
Isn’t that all so very nice.

And in the end, it comes again,
Like bad penny rising or bile in throat,
No more will my laughter everyone choke,
For death is my final say in all things,
And you can all fuck off, even you in the wings,
You don’t mean shit to me,
You’re not even a speck on a speck,
And the truth to all lies makes this one big joke dear friend,
Because I really couldn’t give a shit in the end.

So fuck off all you well wishers,
All helpers and lovers,
Friends above-board and under the covers,
I don’t need any more insights or painful revelations.
I know it all better than you ever will,
And yet I know nothing at all.

I will fight,
I will bleed,
For the day my soul’s freed,
Because nothing to live for,
Is everything I need.

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