It’s not suicide
Death only kills, he is not a murderer
He is like a hangman sold to the craft
of stealing souls


It’s not suicide
When a hand sloughs his soul
When the desire to live melt into
repulse
When heart craves escape from
breathing
When self-ruin turns bride of thoughts
And soul pushes to pulverize itself
It’s not suicide


Death is not murderer
He kills but with a hand


It’s not suicide
If to numb the sting of distress
To heal the wound of life induced
tremor
Heart settles for the choice of
lifelessness
If to kill sorrow,
to cross the bridge of pain
The hearth desires death and caresses
the sweetness of graveyard
It’s not suicide


Death kills with a mind of others
He is not a murderer
He is a hangman loss in the peril of
life taking


It’s not suicide
When the heart crushes itself
When the heart sees its own damage
the point of its rebirth
Its not suicide
Death kills, he is not a murderer
He is but a hangman sold to the
business of stilling livings


MR WRIGHT.