The Little Flame

A rope hangs loosely from the still fan,
On the bed, the tools and drugs lay.
I am just a step away from letting go;
What is it that asks me to stay?

I am tired, I really am.
It's hard to explain,
I have these barbarian thoughts of killing myself
But all these thoughts are going in vain.

Is it that I'm afraid?
Is it that I don't have the guts?
Or is there a little flame in my heart
That ignites all my 'yet's and 'but's!

You see, I have failed a couple of times.
I've tried to let loose my monstrous side.
But there always is this buoyant part of me
That takes me ashore even during the high tide.