warm blood, cold concrete

every time i walk down the stairs
i imagine myself tripping and falling
falling onto the hard cold concrete
breaking my neck creaking my head

my blood pooling around my mangled body
my lungs filling with blood slowly i would be choking
unable to call for help i'd slowly die choking or crushed
i'd die unable to say any goodbyes

somebody finding me broken and bled
screaming for help that i had fallen
only to find i had already died
that the light had already went out of my eyes

i was already gone my blood already cold
to not have to commit suicide because somehow i had already died
my soul left my lifeless corpse torn out screaming
please no i'm not ready to die i didn't even get to say one fucking goodbye

my soul would never be laid to rest i would suffer for all of time
only because i slipped walking down the stairs and fell
i'd be in my own personable fucking HELL.