The rope is starting to look friendly again
I make a ruse to overlook
The crimson hue of impending pain,
Every ounce of me it took
To not glance at the distant mist
Seeping into my very being,
Mangled thoughts still persist
Though banished they seemed to be.
I go sit with my worst foes
Knowing they were always right,
Death seems really cheerful as time goes
Goodbye comrade, I might just be seeing the light.