The River

It's raining, cold outside.

I try to imagine how it would feel

To die out there,

Alone in all that cold,

That dark.

The river's all black and white

At this time of night,

It's daytime babble now a deathly roar.

I look down, my hands on the ledge,

Trying to gage its strength and depth.

Is it enough? You'd have to be sure.

And stepping onto the ledge,

You'd have to be real damn sure why

It is that you're here,

What you're aiming for

Because the river, it won't reject you,

Won't ask you if you really mean it:

It'll just take you, sweep you along,

A dash of pink in that black and white

And drag you under regardless,

Hold you 'til your body quits its senseless fight

And not spit you out until morning,

Lifeless,

To babbling silence

And the rapturous applause of birdsong.