Suicide Note (I)
The swing of the rope is like a lullaby in my closet. A formal invitation to an eternity of silence. I'm fond of music, I am, but the symphony of life is so harrowing. How can I stand to hear the mocking choir of love? The cacophony of rejection? The aria of your lovely voice, it grabs too roughly at the heart.
The lyrics are nonsense and promises and insults. I wish I was deaf, but I can only be mute. I'm drowned out and I must scream or escape. I guess I will whisper into the noose in my bedroom. It's the only place I can hear my own voice for the last time.