I opt out, I reject, I find these grey pastures abhorrent,
I have been washed out to sea and caught in a flood light.
blinded by the bright.
There must be some collection of words,
some selection that curbs the indecency,
a little poignancy, that softens the suicide,
there is no reason to go on,
already, in my head,
I have divided up my belongings,
I have arranged for the cat to be fed,
after I am dead.