Hanging.

 Dear reader, you are unprepared.

I've never told someone, "I tripple, double dare..."

Maybe this little stunt will be the highlight of your sorry life.

Maybe this little stunt is what keeps me alive.

 

You keep reading, but I'm not saying much else.

I never held such cause for writing me.

Will ever I write just for you 

To see the good in me? I guess

We're gonna have to see.

 

If ever I did sing to sing for you,

And you were so appauled, you screamed.

Well, love you're only here to hear

What others have to say.

You couldn't shoot it down with twelve hands.

 

You're "unprepared," to say the least,

For what I'm gonna say.

You'll probably walk away, not caring, anyway.

 

I have a hard time with you.

I seem to try to hold on, too.

And what I'm gonna say is