Suicide Suicide Suicide.
by be.
He places a noose around His neck with the other end securely tied to a ceiling fan. He stands at the tip of a high stool in the center of His kitchen with a knife in His right hand and a revolver in His right pocket. He slices His left wrist violently, then drops the blade to the ground. His mouth is closed, and jaw relaxed. His breathing is not rushed. Before the adrenaline of the inflicted wound turns into a familiarly cold chill, He grabs the revolver and fires a single bullet into His temple before dropping from the stool and pulling the noose taut. His toes hover. Two feet above the ground.
In life He is paraded and taunted by the same crowd. He is welcomed and strangled by the same embrace. But in death He is celebrated for He leaves nothing to chance. Reclaiming His life into His hands.
- Bryan 'be.' Espiritu
Hi Brian!
It’s been a while since I’ve left comments, but I wanted to say that I’m still an avid reader – and love reading all of your stuff. You’re pictures are really good too! I spotted your new line of tee’s for the ladies too. Such good work! Keep it up!
Ooops. I meant Bryan. lol