Suicidal tendencies

Sometimes I think of death
Sometimes I look right in its face
Reluctant.

I stop before my last breath
I still feel out of place

I convince myself that demise is the answer
I want an end to come faster
Have you ever heard of the dead thing,
that in dying,
feeds the living?
I am that thing,
Well at least I think I am,
Every day when the dance of death explores
the realm of my mind
I begin to think my death will bring joy.
But,
All death does is destroy.

Now I look death in the face
And say,
It's not my time or place.