The Final Tear
Tearing the sadness away
Walking along and finding no where to stay
Photographs from the past
Eating at my feeble heart
I sat at the table with the pink rose
Asked why, I would have to suppose
I'd wished for a garden full of desire
Left alone, I had the Bordeaux, and some satire
As the clown juggled in hopes of some dinner
I stabbed him in the back
I thought him a sinner
Until I saw him lying under my table
The wine from my glass fell upon this clown
As fast as his blood seeped underground
He was filled with the grapes of my entire wrath
He looked up and said with smirk and a grin
Suicide is better committed with Whiskey or Gin.
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