And when I die, maybe they'll care.

When my lungs inhale their final air.

When my body is quivering and shaking on the ground,

And from my lips they hear my final sound.

When my face turns blue and my body cold,

And they don't know what the future beholds.

Or when I'm hanging from the ceiling,

And I saviour this delicious feeling.

Of the rope around my throat,

After I wrote my thriteenths note.

Or when I walk into the river at dawn,

And in the next few seconds I'm gone.

My lungs fill with water,

And they know they should've thought farther.

28th January 2022