Suicide gone wrong

The noose pulls tighter around your neck.
It makes you wish you could take it all back.
The rope cuts into your skin
And you see the fire that you’ve set in the bin.
Your memories are ablaze
While your thoughts are trying to figure out how to exit the maze.
You don’t see the legs of the chair give in and bend.
“Fuck” you think, “I am not ready to meet my end.”
That realization, I’m afraid,
came one, two, three, four minutes too late.