My Beautiful Suicide

David Swan



My future is a solitary steel bowl on a cold, 
damp, concrete floor.
In a bare room.
No windows or doors.
Can't even see my hand in front of my face.
The only noise is of heavy footsteps somewhere 
outside the room.
The occassional laughter as my companion.
So I turn to my past and I'm the only thing 
in the entire universe, suspended.
Not even a star.
Blackness crushing me.
So I think of death.
Cooly and calmly she prepares for her last performance.
Slowly she ties up her black boots 
smiling into her reflection on her razorsharpe blades, 
she glides to the centre of the ring cutting through the ice
 dressed in silver, severing the ties of past and future.
I watch from the side, her only audience, 
as she gives her final performance.
The ties of bondage fall.
Now I am standing on the shore resting  in the present.
The sun and moon in my hand.
And god talks from a single grain of sand, of just this moment.
I Wave goodbye to myself on a boat weighed down with hollow
thoughts, drifting away on the minds tide.
So ends my dream, my beautiful suicide.



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