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Suicide Note

Seated on the edge of my bed,
on the coffee table,
the gun or the knife,
my last decision to be.
The glass bottle on the table,
itching to get closer,
I've turned to it before,
it's simulated closure.
The bottle tips,
the glass fills up,
my memories begin to drown.
I'm slowly lost as I begin to take it in,
the things that have hit me,
are beginning to disappear.
What you've done to me,
no longer seems to matter.
I stare, at the contents on the table,
the choice seems so much closer.
Death has become the only way out.
The only way to free me from this pain.