Suicide Note

"You can’t always get what you want," said Angie, in that style she loves to flaunt. It isn’t what I want, you silly shrew: the tumblin dice have told me what to do. My fate’s decided, like I was Iraq: That photo that I gave you? Paint it black. I regaled you with the ruby, Tuesday night – but that’s all over. This Olympian height (the roof bar of The Rolling Stones Hotel) is where I’ll jump from (tell them that I fell, if that’s what you prefer). I will succumb to gravity – you can’t say “Under my thumb,” like in the past. You’ll think of something lame (you Honky Tonk Women are all the same!) Wild Horses won’t prevent me learning to fly. And I’ll be counting down, as tiers go by.