The shaking of the bottle, the creaking of the floor,
she just wants to end it, and deal with pain no more.

His breathing slows and steadies, losing mirth as time goes past;
watching blood drip from his broken heart, he’ll rest in peace at last.

As the chair tips over, her life flashes in her eyes,
and as she hangs there from her neck, she hears her mother’s cries.

For all of you who have no hearts, who say they’re only faking,
you’re blind as bats, lower than life, and I hope you feel them shaking.

Now death stares him in the eyes as he lets the trigger go.
This is his only option; he has never felt so low.
Watch carefully for crafted masks, stop and take a pause;
because remember: suicide does not come without a cause.