a poem for the lonely

i look at my wrist
i repeat to make a fist
the veins grow bigger
and then i figure
splattering the blood again my walls
doesnt mean a thing what matters is
that i´d be the one who smiles before he falls
a happy corpse i would be
the thought fills my mind with glee
in the choice of our death when we take control
we are free to meet the end we want to see
i like the fact how ironicle a smiling corpse
could be =)
soulreaper