Bright Suicide

I am almost, almost, almost ready.
Oh death-desire, hold my hand steady.

There is work I could do; I have no heart to do it.
There is a rebuke in my mind; I accept that rebuke.
There is a duty to see through; I only see through it.
There is a life to live; I would live it by a fluke.

I am almost, almost, almost ready.
Oh death-desire, hold my hand steady.

I cannot hear their tongue; they do not hear mine.
It is no one's fault; I am tired of assigning blame.
They have light in them; I do not share the shine.
They live, dance in fire; I am consumed in the flame.

I am almost, almost, almost ready.
Oh death-desire, hold my hand steady.

Suicide has been called black; it is not dark.
It comes to me, brilliant; it is a bright hawk on high.
It sings like a dying swan; it sings like a skylark.
It is utterly invisible; it takes the whole of the sky.

I am almost, almost, almost ready.
Oh death-desire, hold my hand steady.

It settles on my shoulder; it wreathes me round.
It rides in my mind; it is rampant in my heart.
I fear no eternity; I do not hate the grave-ground.
I bid a fond farewell to those from whom I must part.

I am in this moment, in this moment, ready.
Oh death-desire, hold my hand steady.

Oh death-desire, rid me of this too-weary life.
Oh death-desire, guide the hand clasping the knife.