Pretty Little Colours

I'm dreaming of Suicide
Suicide filled with Pretty Little Colours
The red that erupts from the small, round gunshot wound to my head,
Or the blue that seeps from the noose tightened around my neck.
Maybe the white from the hundreds of pills I swallow one by one then, mercilessly followed by a strong shot of alcohol.
Or, perhaps the dullened grey my skin turns from weeks and weeks and weeks, of starvation.
No, its the Spectrum of Colours that flash when I throw myself off the top of a tall building into the unfeeling arms of the pavement.
Too colourful, huh?
Well what about the Black I know they'll drape me in while I lay dying in my coffin, or the Black they'll drown themselves in as they mourn joyfully.
Perhaps its the Black soul that once filled and possessed my now hollow shell.
I'm surrounded by
Pretty,
Little,
Colours.