Note: This poem reflects on my dark past
This sadness is going to kill me.
I don't know what I want,
and I don't know what to do anymore...
I am walking towards the valley of suicide
picking razorblade flowers
under cyanide skies.
Should I drown myself in the lake of eternal death?
Maybe.
Or maybe I should keep walking
and meet my self inflicted demise around my neck from the tree that bears forbidden fruit and forbidden dreams.
Bullets have never tasted as sweet as these.
I choose to rest here in the valley of suicide.
With razorblade flowers on my grave
under cyanide skies.
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