He stood on the chair, as he tightened the rope,
In this life he called hell, he could no longer cope,
He needed released, from his constant pain,
If it lasted much longer, they’d know he’s not sane.

The rope was tight now, around the boys neck,
His life before his eyes, a terrible wreck,
He kicked back the chair, and fell towards the floor,
The rope pulling tighter, soon he would be no more.

The constant choking of the rope, would be over soon,
Swinging there, by the light of the moon,
Motionless now, as he hung there untouched,
This is what happens to a life, with no pure love.