I don't normally rhyme but this one just flowed that way. (No Title)

Sublime whispers inside his ear
were louder than the shouts of society.
With white noise suppressed
he tuned to the voice in his head.  

Among the hum one message was clear;
A messenger with priority
and so casually dressed,
he slowly climbed into his bed

He considered those he’ll leave so dear
and prayed out of fear more than piety
then, with his lips pressed
around the barrel of a gun filled with lead

his eyes closed shut filled with tears,
as a soul prepared for its Deity.
Then when his finger depressed
the bullet made certain he bled...

was he dead?

(to be continued)