by Anthony Labson
Before this knife enters
my accepting heart
with the help of my willing hand.
Before I take a swim
off this bridge
into the Hudson River
in the climate of December.
Before I take the ultimate aspirin.
With all the issues going on inside my head
it can only be solved with this number 38.
Before I take this last drink.
I feel numb and my eyes are nearly closed,
and only one more is needed to finish the job.
Before I make myself taller
with this rope around my neck.
Maybe then the world won’t treat me so small.
Before I light this match
and drop it on my kerosene clothes.
Then I will become my very own firework.
This is all I have to say.
But, instead, I give you signs
just to see if you pay attention.
But, instead, you simply turn away.
Somebody please see
that I need you to
This is a excerpt from my novel Madness in a Recession. Available now on Amazon.