C Jay Caputo

How Suicide Works 3

I go to the store,
get rope,
strong rope.

There's a tree with a branch that hangs over a large cliff.
Mine as well paint a scene.

I walk to the top of the cliff, up to the tree;
I left my car in the garage and in the car my ID.

I get the rope tied mid way to the branch,
the other end, a perfect hangman's knot.

I fit it modestly around my neck,
to be comfortable.

I take my last breath
think my last thoughts,
close my eyes.

I step off the cliff.
The branch snaps.
I fall to my death.

Submitted: Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Topic of this poem: suicide

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