poet John Wathen

John Wathen

Suicide

Some people think that the cure for all ills,
is a tumbler of scotch and a handful of pills.
Others swear to end your life,
you need a nice hot bath and a good sharp knife,
I know that messy but I must confess, when your dead,
sod the mess.
Some people reckon to use a rope, but,
you must get the dropp just right,
or you'll just swing there,
dangling
strangling
until you end your life.
Now I have found the perfect way,
if I want to end my life,
its not a rope, knife or dope,
that will be the end of me.
I want to be shot by a jealous husband
at the age of ninety three.

Listen to this poem:
Poem Submitted: Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Poem Edited: Monday, May 2, 2011

Add this poem to MyPoemList

Rating Card

3,5 out of 5
1 total ratings
rate this poem

Comments about Suicide by John Wathen

There is no comment submitted by members..

Pablo Neruda

If You Forget Me



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?