Bruno, my brother, hear this.
I have decided to end my life.
No, seriously, this is it.
A firm decision on my future.
A future proven rather vague,
Not unlike the days of my past.
So, esta finito, a finish to it all.
The method of my demise
Is still under consideration;
Passive, as with pills or gas,
Dramatic, as with kissing a truck,
Or, maybe, just flinging myself
From the Eiffel Tower, which
Would require a lengthy trip
And tools to cut through the
Wire mesh placed around
The edifice since so many
Have jumped before me.
Drat! There goes originality.
I’ll come up with something.
The date is set, my birthday:
Either my hundred and tenth
Or my hundred and twentieth.
It’ll be a while. I’ll let you know.
I have decided to end my life.
No, seriously, this is it.
A firm decision on my future.
A future proven rather vague,
Not unlike the days of my past.
So, esta finito, a finish to it all.
The method of my demise
Is still under consideration;
Passive, as with pills or gas,
Dramatic, as with kissing a truck,
Or, maybe, just flinging myself
From the Eiffel Tower, which
Would require a lengthy trip
And tools to cut through the
Wire mesh placed around
The edifice since so many
Have jumped before me.
Drat! There goes originality.
I’ll come up with something.
The date is set, my birthday:
Either my hundred and tenth
Or my hundred and twentieth.
It’ll be a while. I’ll let you know.
Daniel S. Irwin, a native of Sparta, Illinois. Retired military. Dudeist priest. Dedicated heathen. Work published in over one hundred magazines and journals world wide. Founder of The Hardened Sailors’ School of Vulgar Vernacular (now disbanded). Latest work can be found at/in Horror, Sleaze, Trash Magazine, Beatnik Cowboy, Cajun Mutt, The Rye Whiskey Review.
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