Toying With Death

Sometimes I think about suicide,
To me it is fun, a passer of time, if you will.
I imagine how I would do it,
What I would say.

Would I write a last request, thought, or note of apology?
Would I say, "Mom, it's not your fault"?
Would I make a cynical rhyme, riddle, or poem,
And laugh at the irony of it? That sounds fun.
To laugh at the stone-faced hatred for life
While my windpipe is being crushed or while I create a crimson pool.

I predict who would be at the funeral,
Crying,
Laughing saying "Ahhh I hated that kid",
Straight-faced like a mask - too stunned by it. Wearing it with tear-less misery.
I often wonder who would think about me everyday,
What it would do to the people I loved,
My parents,
My friends - however few they may be.
I also wonder if anyone would follow my example,
If anyone else took pleasure in toying with death,
I should have asked them first, oh well, too late now...