The suicide tree is beckoning me.
The airbag, deflated, will leave me alone.
Admiring the road, I consider my load.
At last, I will reap from the poison I've sown.

Reaching the roof I know this is my truth.
There's nothing but stories until the hard ground.
There's nothing above to restore any love.
I imagine the leap, then the flight, then the sound.

Out in the fields, the stars yield to my stares.
The buzzing of power lines is joy to my ears.
The drinking is working, my thinking is clear.
My vodka-filled veins have dissolved my old fears.

The crossing is closing. My loss is your gain.
The sleepers converge to an oncoming doom.
I think of the feel from the guillotine wheels.
The reaper is coming to show me my room.