A/N: So, it's been a while. Here's Rachel. Please, please don't hate me for this. :s
Disclaimer: Glee is not mine, and the song, The Art Of Suicide belongs to the lovely and talented singer, Emilie Autumn
The Art Of Suicide
Nightgowns and hair
Curls flying every which way
Rachel looked in the mirror, clutching the towel close to her body. She was fresh out of the shower and examining herself. She sighed.
Bridges of sighs
Meant to conceal lover's lies
Under the arches of moonlight and sky
Suddenly easy to contemplate why
Why
She released the towel, letting it fall to the floor. Her hair hung down her back, still wet, leaving her exposed to the cool air. She was pretty. She knew she was.
Why live a life
That's painted with pity and sadness and strife
Why dream a dream
That's tainted with trouble and less than it seems
But if she was pretty, why couldn't they see it? The others? Quinn and Santana called her ugly, Finn rarely noticed her, and others paid her no more attention than they did anyone else.
Why bother bothering
Just for a poem or another sad song to sing
Why live a life
Why live a life
Well, they would damn well notice her now. She'd make sure of it. She would be remembered.
The art of suicide
Pretty and clean
Conveys a theatrical scene
She dried her hair and applied her makeup, making her face a canvas. She picked out a beautiful, lacy black dress to wear.
"Alas, I'm gone!" she cried
Ankles displayed
Melodramatically laid
She put on her favorite shoes and put on a headband with a bow. She fixed her hair and found the bottle.
Under the arches of moonlight and sky
Suddenly easy to contemplate why
Why
She opened the orange bottle and let the pills spill into her hand. No, not too many. She ended up with five in her palm. She got a glass of water.
Why live a life
That's painted with pity
And sadness and strife
Why dream a dream
That's tainted with trouble
And less than it seems
Why bother bothering
Just for a poem
Or another sad song to sing
Why live a life
Why live a life
She put each on her tongue and took a sip of water. One, two, three, four, five. They disappeared and with the last one, she drains her glass, leaving a lipstick mark.
Life is not like Gloomy Sunday
With a second ending when the people are disturbed
Well they should be disturbed
Because there's a story that ought to be heard
She set the glass down on her nightstand and tipped the pill bottle on its side, letting the remaining pills spill out onto the wood.
Life is not like Gloomy Sunday
With a second ending when the people are disturbed
Well, they should be disturbed
Because there's a lesson that really ought to be learned
Rachel laid on her back, holding sheet music to the entirety of Funny Girl, crossing her arms over the paper to keep it in place.
The world is full of poets
We don't need anymore
She closed her eyes and waited to die.
The world is full of singers
We don't need anymore
She was gone.
The world is full of lovers
We don't need anymore
A/N: So, there it is... Some commentary/criticism would be appreciated.