Search For The Perfect Suicide. Poem by Bri Marie Ormsbee

Slowly things will begin to fade.
With each swift clean cut of a blade.
But the cuts they’re not enough.
So I begin the search for the real painful suicide stuff.
A bottle of pills, a few sips of alcohol?
No not good enough, that won’t do at all.
Walk the middle of the road, let a car hit, looking like a deer caught in headlights.
That would hurt quite a bit, but the car could miss, and I’d win the fight.
It would be simple enough to stand on a chair, hang my head in noose.
Just a quick trip, but I could fall the wrong way, and the knot could become loose.
I could jump off a bridge and fall into the deep dark abyss.
But my body may never be found, I’d say goodbye to the world with an unknown air kiss.
It would be quick enough to get rid of it all by putting one simpe bullet in my brain.
It’d be messy as hell, and not enough pain.
But I’ve figured out the best suicide of all.
It’s quite simple in love I will fall.
When you whisper “I love you.” I will take my last breath.
That will be the end of it all; your love is my death.