Suicidal Thoughts

Death is my calling.
Blades and thick ropes intensify the
demonic eyes of misery, ...
staring down my frame with his mouth
watering and stomach growling.
My parents danced with the angel of death
when I was only 7.
Adoption homes were my castle walls
made of broken glass of emotions
and potions of drugs howling with fangs of
dark moons disguised as hope, with it’s painful
hugs stabbing my body.
As adulthood approaches, puberty hurricanes
and Penetration of the female counterpart brung a
child that god refunded before the womb
was ready for it’s inception.
Then my fiance inhaled the angel dust that
sent her to vacant coffins years before
her time was ready for her kingdom come.
I did every drug under the sun, trying to mask the
soul eating disease getting full off my self hatred that
provided endless substances and life curses,
cursing the love arrows that tried to strike my heart
with flutter and my mind with euphoria.
Now that I’m on top of this bridge, talking me out will
only make me jump faster.
The ground below will open it’s pearly gates
to roll the end credits to this life of mine.
Let it end. Let it be.