I feel the bullet in my head streaking through as it makes me dead.
I feel the knife in my heart as it dices me up and splits me apart.
I feel the rope around my neck as I slowly choke and hit the deck.
I feel the blood drain from my corpse, wishing it would end…

They say that it's not me who's lost the plot.
They say that, since time begun, I wasn't the only one.
They say, Although I feel like shit, I'll get over it.
They say that I'm abnormal, a freak and a dickhead too...

I've seen with cruel intent, how easily the rules are bent.
I've seen, while in this prison, how people show favouritism.
I've seen with open eyes, how many people see me and despise.
I've seen it all and missed my mind collapsing...

So why suggest I look for free rest?
So why assume, in darkness, I loom?
So why believe I only grieve?
So why is it so hard to see I can't stand you any more?

((Dedicated to all the non-suicidal people in the world. Don't go thinking that every suicidal person is seeking attention, wants to be saved from themselves or hasn't a valid reason for wanting to die. You're just being selfish, ignorant and a pestilence to the suicidal kind.))