It wasn’t clean—it didn’t need to be
Shining with the blood of before
Pointed, sharp, silver, thin
Skinnier than a safety pin
But this was far from safety
Penetrate, oh, penetrate it
Puncture bleeding sway
Hit it home, oh, hit it home
Stomach pains melt away
Always so uncomfortable, temper on edge
A dull knife scraped the inner walls
Pushed clean off the ledge
The doctors never gave an answer
Just mere speculation
“bronchitis” and “stress”
They both meant mutilation
The words felt the same
When they were paper machèd to stomach lining
It was thick glue—so thick breathing seemed frightening
But breathing was easy now, so easy it was hard to stop
Death was the only answer how, a gun playing lethal prop
So far from rapture, so far from passion
The bedroom floor felt nothing but the
Sweat, guilt, debt of the stage
Burning pressure, oh, burning pressure
Monochrome metal to skin
Pull the trigger, oh, pull the trigger
Exploding on a whim
Echoes bang threw halls
Melt into the walls
Lay there for five days
Alone, untouched, the media gone
No sign of fake fans or praise
Too bad you were dead and couldn’t hear
The silence that flooded the room
When they found you, they carted you back
Dumping limbs to grave and tomb
I sit here now, as many fans do
Your death weighing like a lie
Knees to chest, chin tucked under
Stuck here wondering why
It all makes sense, yet it makes none at all
Why you killed yourself—only 27
Why the world let you fall