Photo by lee Scott on Unsplash

I contemplate suicide like it’s a side dish
In a frenzy I call the local parish

He doesn’t answer unknown numbers — agnostic
Time presses for my thoughts are hectic

Dark clouds abound above the ground
A frown forms down from my halo crown

I contemplate the idea of living
To be grateful or hateful like Thanksgiving

Why should I find meaning?
To an event so fleeting?

Love, a weak ship in a sea of hate
There is a price to pay for a clean slate