Pretty Blue Pills

Pretty blue pills,
shiny in my palm,
the ticket to my peace,
to my eternal calm.

They're so perfectly round,
and soon they'll be in me.
The closest to perfect
that I'll ever be.

They go down so smooth.
Five, ten, fifteen and twenty.
Soon I'll be gone.
Twenty-five and Thirty.

That should be enough,
but I'll play it safe.
Thirty-five and forty.
Now I have no more to take.

The bottle is empty,
as empty as I feel.
None of this is happening,
too good to be real.

But soon I start to drift
into a dark unknown fog.
Somewhere quite distantly.
I hear a muffled sob.

But I blow it off as fake.
Nobody could possibly care.
I doubt anyone's noticed
that I'm no longer there.

But then I hear my name,
just a distant call.
I feel myself lift higher.
No! I want to fall!

I ignore the voice in earnest,
but it's calling me up, up, up.
Please let me be.
That life was too tough.

I like this fog,
this numbing haze,
free from the ridicule,
from the judging gaze.

But inevitably I come up,
eyes open so slight.
There are people all around
and a harsh fluorescent light.

Damn, it didn't work.
How many times must I try?
I struggle against the doctors,
please let me die.

I'll be locked up here awhile,
among these padded walls,
but soon they'll let me go,
and I'll answer death's calls.

I guess pills aren't my thing.
I'll try something new.
Maybe a gun,
yes, those survivors are few.

Good-bye world.
This will be my last try.
There's no chance for survival,
finally time to die.