If so many great poets,
have ended in this way,
Woolf, Weldon, Hemingway,
Why not I? Why not today?
The hour of life is far too long
to spend trapped within a head;
a web of thoughts. Please. Let me
join the ranks of the greatest dead.
Plath, Berryman, Sexton.
I feel as if I understand thee.
Perhaps I can never be more
than a turbulent tendency…
Allow me to attempt, and my
last letter- my last goodbye!-
will be both brief and beautiful,
just like a little butterfly.
Permit my blood to flow from veins.
Just like a river; full of life.
Within minutes I will have faded.
All gone. At the hands of a knife.