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And so he took the duct tape, and wrapped the bread knife to his left hand.

The serrated edge could cut through any rope.

It would be useful, if there were any regrets.

And then, he took the duct tape,

And wrapped the gun to his right hand.

It would be useful, if it should've ended sooner.

And he stood upon his chair, His final Throne...

And slid the Noose around his Neck.

He slanted,

From the left, and then to the right.

The chair wobbled,

And the ground shook.

And he wondered,

Will I shoot myself?

Will I cut myself down?

Or, will I hang?

And so he took the duct tape, and wrapped the bread knife to his left hand. The serrated edge could cut through any rope. It would be useful, if there were any regrets. And then, he took the duct tape, And wrapped the gun to his right hand. It would be useful, if it should've ended sooner. And he stood upon his chair, His final Throne... And slid the Noose around his Neck. He slanted, From the left, and then to the right. The chair wobbled, And the ground shook. And he wondered, Will I shoot myself? Will I cut myself down? Or, will I hang?

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[–] • 2 pts (edited )

This is probably the best thing I've read today. As a metaphor, you might have inadvertently written something greater than yourself. In my case, it's exactly what I needed to read, and at the right time, at that! +1

[–] • 2 pts

Good. I really didn't enjoy writing it.

[–] • 2 pts (edited )

Art cannot exist without unreconciled pain. This is why the word "catharsis" exists. To paraphrase a smart man, "the most beautiful thoughts are always next to the darkest." If none of us lived a life of suffering, art would not exist. We would stop striving to attain something better; it's as simple as that.

[–] • 2 pts

I'm halfway through writing a book that I will never be able to show to any of my family, because I really don't want them to know how bad my thoughts can get.