The Suicide

He danced his last by himself
When the music became heavy
The scented display shelf
Fell into the golden levee
As his mind became melted,

He pranced his heart out
Asked for more than a drink
“I’m pretty, but sordid, I think”
All the words of his curdled,
His head swam in a dream
His life became a bad theme
Of make believe, no reality.

“Please let me see the sun again”
But his words blew away
His hat was the only
Protection between his head
And the floor of the ravine
He jumped clear of the gorse bush
All he heard was a harsh air rush.