Suicide

Don't worry.  This was a colored composition of words and old memories, some mine, others elicited unwanted.  I was just thinking :).

You, consigliere,

asked only little

things:

longer hair, less

callow, a fitter

palate. 

So, getting

up to scratch,

I honored

turpitude, groveled

obeisance

to you.

Forgetting quondam

days of me, I,

now bilious, took the

last thing of myself:

to myself.

A gun.