Suiciede Poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Suicide

I have lately been contemplating taking my life
The question is, how?
I live on the seventh floor with a veranda
The falling is not bad I shudder by the impact
Also, upsetting people.
A shotgun in my mouth blowing my brain out Is too ghastly,
Ernest Hemingway did it shoot himself
Blood and gore all over the place.
A 22-calibre pistol should do it, but I dislike
Weapons.
To take a handful of pills will not do I would
Throw up and sweat profoundly.
I wish there were an injection that made me
Disappear from the face of the earth.
No funeral
No flowers
Few tears
Only an enduring question
Where the hell did he go?