The Suicide Suite
The suicide suite
At the Checkers Hotel,
Goin’ straight from my room
To the fires of Hell;
The songs of Los Angeles
Never miss a beat,
Sirens chasing cop cars
And beggars in the street;
But in the hotel lobby
All is safe and sane,
The smile behind the counter
Is genuinely inane;
Bright brass flows all around, and yet,
There’s still a stain or two,
And everywhere your stare is met
By faces dull and blue;
But money is no problem
For those who stay within,
It can’t be when they charge you ten,
For tonic and some gin;
Let see the room, I’ve got the key,
It’s mine while I’m alive,
And what’s below the precipice
Of Checkers six-oh-five;
I’m curious about the view
That I’ll be passing by,
And will I black out on the way,
Or kick, and scream, and cry;
Just as I thought, no living thing,
To watch my final feat,
Just sirens chasing cops cars,
And beggars in the street;
Surrounded by square monuments
Of steel and concrete,
My blood will paint the asphalt
At their filthy feet;
But not just yet, there’s lots of time,
I’ve got to stop and think,
Can’t rush this thing, this deadly fling,
Let’s sit and have a drink;
Eight bucks for a cabernet,
I can’t believe its true,
But I’ve no need for money now,
In minutes I’ll be through;
What brought me here, I can’t quite say,
It’s troubling but true,
The weight’s too much, I’ve lost my crutch,
The world’s come crashing through;
A sip of wine, a cigarette,
Quiet darkness fills the room,
It must be time to fly away
And leave this life of gloom;
The window opens outward,
A straight shot to the street,
Below there are no obstacles,
How nice they thought of me;
I’d leave a note, but what’s the point,
No one listens anyway,
They’ll think I went to fetch a pen,
And stumbled on the way;
Well here we go, no time to lose,
It’s time to get some air,
Don’t worry Mom, I’ve paid you heed,
I’ve got clean underwear;
Down we go, down through the breeze,
Getting faster as we go,
But the street is still so far away,
And time goes by so slow;
But here she comes, much faster now,
The cold, hard world I know,
Then suddenly, “I understand…
I CAN’T DIE NOW, OH N…!”
Copyright 1987 by Alyn Stanton
