Take a look upon these empty bodies,
free from conciousness at last.
Just forsaken shells,
rotting remains of a mortal past.

Observe this silent beauty,
covered with a sheet of cold.
What would they be thinking,
while leaving this savage world.

Memories of the beloved,shall some
flowers redeem your acts?
stiching shall be effective,but
nothing can hide the red marks.

Wrists of roses,skin
pale blue.
around the neck a mauve scar or two.
there is a variety of suicide techniques.
death is a common art and more artists it needs.

Dressed with silk of black,casket placed
ready to be gone.
Soil and tears shall fall.
as the result will be a name on a stone.

Smiles on the withered faces,layed on the table
naked as they were before.
now procceding to the wooden cradle.
so wrongly torn from the womb of bliss,
scaretted limbs in the abyss.

Planting their daisies in the barren ground,
their flowers were withered or watered too much
and drowned.
leading lives,like sleepwalkers.
chewing on their painted nails.
their selves personal stalkers,their
plan fails.

A breath to refuse,a pistol
a noose.
A razor of steel,
a broken will.

Death lies exclusive beauty,like
all things abandoned and lone.
Just as viewing ancient ruins.
When you read the name on the stone.