STOLEN GLANCES FROM THE FORBIDDEN'S JOURNAL...

I could just slit my wrist

and watch myself die.

flashes of memories both good and bad would summarize my life in a gist

and in the little time left i could wonder who will miss me and cry.

Or i could just down some poison

and ascend from all perdition.

I'd let iciness creep in and let my face ashen

and end this journey of damnation.

i could glance out at the stream from a speeding train

its beckoning waters reflecting the electrified evening blue sky

jumping off would be a short burst of adrenaline and forever the end of my pain

there would be no more to cry and no more to lie.

another solution could be the cold metal .45,

a click, a last breath, and on the walls a splatter of brain

with the angel of death I'll have my last jive

no more eccentricities,childishness and worries to be slain.

Ironically, the lack of bravery for a cowardly act like this

which in it's mysteriousness promises bliss,

has stopped me from turning to the slit, the gulp, the click or the jump

helpless now sets in choking my tears and leaving in my throat a fist-sized lump.

i hear voices in my head saying its the hormones or the legendary PMS

honestly, i couldn't care less... i couldn't care less...