Cinerous Drops of November Rain.

A pill or two, just to sensate.
Maybe more, why not the whole bottle?
You only live once, they've started to say...
Why not let go of the restraining throttle?

I toss back the canister, following with a glass.
Catching on the way down, they eventually ride.
Twenty-six bulging capsules of Imipramine...
Looking for the promising trip of suicide.

Fingers disjoint, overlapping into feathers.
Twelve brilliant white wings sweep away the room.
All of the glass, and polished furniture...
Brushed away under my magnificent plume.

Planning to rain, they stir up the air.
The Angel of Death will soon be calling.
Disintegration, they collapse over clouds...
And billowing screams erupt while I'm falling.

My head is swimming, my eyes give out.
Steady rattling shakes my softened sinew...
Just a crippled heap upon the ground.
Intelligence down a pit, reduced to nothing, but stew.