Sandy Please? [Suicide Is Not A Game]

So you think you can tell Heaven from Hell? So you think we have no mercy for our lives or no choice of the when and the where? Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? Can you tell your life from the bitter end that it becomes? It’s a weird feeling knowing your face won’t see the likes of mine again. It’s strange to know that you had your own choice. We’ve been dying and dropping from boat accidents and car accidents, cancer and murder. There’s no choice in a metal guardrail impaling the rusted frame of your car or in the turning blade scraping what is left of you. And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? Did they get you too close to the edge? Did you sputter dead at the end of the cull de sac and trample through the neighbor’s weeds? Love heals everything, the rope healed you. Did you trade your sanity for the sweet taste of your breath exhaling and never inhaling? Are you pleased to never see? What have we found? What have we found but your dirt dead end and my Las Vegas strip? You know who I am and I know you. The last name never stuck. The Sandy beach only treaded upon itself in fits of religion and environment. I only ever saw your face, day after day. Your self-inflicted demise caused for a temporary upset and for a memory that died with your soul. How many do you think will really remember you? The same old fears drove you quicker and quicker down the left lane to pass it all out. You can’t have any idea of what you left behind to leave for nothing. You’re still on that same dead end, but there’s no room to turn around. Friends heal everything, healing was never an option. Did you enjoy stringing yourself like Christmas lights from the tallest notch in the tree? You’ll be damned before I see you, but there’s one thing I can never let go. We were given up for the creak of a taught rope. Wish you were here. It must suck hanging from the noose.