A thousand cuts and, still, no death; he asks, is this how things
Must go? The children whine. The program crashes. On the phone,
The ex is saying there's a bill which must be paid. A noose looks
Good, the loser's necktie. Nothing, so far, tells him he will profit
From longevity. He gazes upward at the sky. There's no sign
Anyone is there, but he still makes his bleak request, "Won't you
Please end this soon?"