The Suicide Note Poem by Harry J. Couchon Jr

Life's not worth living is what the note said
It was found on the floor, where he lay dead
Death not by disease, simple or grand
But death by the author's very own hand

More of a manuscript than a suicide note
Pages of heartache and anguish he wrote
Describing in detail why he took his own life
Being betrayed by the woman he loved, his wife

He loved her and was faithful, the poor shmuck
But all she wanted to do was f**k f**k f**k
Taking one lover, and then two
In bed she'd tell them, he hasn't got a clue

Then one day, the truth became known
A mutual friend, talking on the phone
Let slip of his wife's indiscretion
Upon hearing the news, he plunged into depression

Depression that grew, day by day
Until he decided there was only one way
getting out his pad and pen he began to write
all though the day and long into the night

And when at last, his note was done
He opened the safe and took out his gun
Putting the barrel in his mouth, did he have the balls?
He did, blowing his brains all over the kitchen walls