A Short Story About Killing Myself Pt.2 Poem by Christopher's Dead

I never really knew what it meant to live
I thought I had a chance
I thought I stood a chance
Against the world
But everything was really spinning
Out of control in vertigo and there were no more better
Things to come
So I went up to my bedroom
Arsenal in hand
Of all the happy things I needed
Before I was going to die
I took a pen, and some paper, knives, a gun, some pills and I was going to succeed with my plan

Every night, I’d take that pen
And write a letter to each of my “friends”
Telling them that I was to go
In my heart
It burned out
It burned out
Onto each page
“Don’t look for me
I’m going I’m gone, I can’t carry on
I just want things to end my way.”

Playing Russian roulette with myself
Listening to 45s
While holding a 45
In my hand with a smile
And bleeding while the knives
Jabbed out of my arm
Taking pills so suicidal
And I did not
Take note or see
Or read the label
On the bottle that said “Warning
Do not take more three
In a twenty-four hour period”

That fateful night, it felt the same
Nothing I did could kill the pain
So I took that gun in hand
And my brains
They burst out
They burst out
Of my head
I wasn’t meant
For anything more than this simple score
Cruel world: 1, and I got none

Don’t look for me
I’m going I’m gone, I can’t carry on
I just wanted things to end my way