‘..and it’s goodbye from him’

Thoughts of suicide
died, reborn, reform
into thoughts of
suicide.

One leap into
eternal sleep
one shot and
it’ll all stop.

The narrative drones on
men walk on the moon
man walks on water
the latest thing gives birth
to a daughter and
why should I care?

away from prying eyes
my mind becomes a
banana republic,
unstable
reliant upon what is
brought to the table
quite adept at being inept,

fuck it
I should have slept on,
but there’s always the suicide
somewhere inside.

© 2018, John Smallshaw.