Choices

After a long, restless night, my frail hope was fraught.

And I began my day with a terrible thought.

Even though I knew it was a sin,

I was going to do myself in.

But first, I was going to have to decide

exactly how I would commit suicide.

I could slit my wrists with a razor blade.

I could hang myself with a noose I made.

I could shoot a vital organ with a gun;

if my aim was good, that would get the job done.

I could walk in the path of a vehicle or train.

I could not wear a parachute and jump from a plane.

I could swallow a hundred prescription pills.

I could go where you can't survive without gills.

I could imbibe one poison, or another.

I could insult a body-builder's mother.

I could leave my eyes open when I sneeze.

There were so many possibilities.

Because these choices were weighing heavily on me,

I chose to eat before I became an absentee.

Well, once I ate pancakes I saw more clearly.

I comprehended that I loved life dearly.

So after breakfast I took a long, hot shower

and decided, from now on, I would not cower.

Then I slipped in the tub, and hit my head.

That, Saint Peter, is how I wound up dead.