Creative Suicide

The dead have only one thought, I wish I was alive,
For creative thought, this is what I strive.

It all ended for me the day I took my life,
Poetry set in motion, death to emotion.

Why can't the dead shut up, what more must they say,
They had their chance at life, in the black abyss they play.

Can you stop the yelling, you think way to loud,
Your such an attention whore, standing out in the crowd.

Can't you see we don't care, you had your chance to create,
ended by your hand, it was your chosen fate.

So many people miss you, how many tears they cry,
Your final artistic act, creative suicide.