Bad enough he wanted to end his life,
but he was in the middle of nowhere,
fleeing his demons across steaming asphalt.
Car low on gas, two bucks in his pocket,
then total despair caught him in Bum-fiddle U.S.A.
somewhere just past Iowa...whole lot,
just like his life of debts unpaid.
Even worse it was a dinky tree,
with sharp prickers and his rope was
a couple of soup stained ties,
from when he used to have a job.
Most unfortunate as well
were the numerous bleeding scratches
he acquired trying to string his noose.
Nothing blissful was found in his demise,
a stray tie-tack cut into his Adams apple,
and his neck failed to break.
Being only inches from the ground,
he suffocated slowly,
trying hard not to tippy-toe back to life.
He gargled strangled curses and wished
as he was dying that he had found
a bigger tree to crucify himself on.
The birds found him before the police did,
and his socket-less stare would
haunt them long after he was the bones
he had chosen to become.
Gold trophy winner
Adding your comment:
your words paint a vivid picture.
