this is dark, even for me. maybe some things are not meant to be funny.
What if I could put in an application for death?
I could fill out some detailed form, listing my qualifications and experiences: the things I had hoped for that didn't work out and the things I wished had never happened at all. And I'd calculate the ratio of (hours of sleep) to (the number of tears plus years). And I'd present the goals I have, mainly none-- if I could bring myself to admit it. Which I probably could. And Someone could consider my self-summary carefully, maybe a quick interview, and if I made a bad enough impression, They'd take me in.
I hear suicide is a selfish, cowardly escape.
So kinda like a weekend get-away but longer.
I wish it were an option:
some Divine Travel-Agent perusing through which
flight I need to take, at which cheapest cost of pain,
and which hammock I could swing from in what climate
for the rest of my death. Or offer me a womb with a view.
This may all be an elaborate trick,
I fear that days actually get infinitesimally longer as you age and Someone out there is just sneaking in slivers of minutes endlessly to what should have been my last day. What if it is not death that is forever, but life? Who is breaching whose contract here?
I envy the born-again. I'm up for it.
I just think though, if He wants me delivered,
He's going to have to kill me first.
And I could boast: We're so close, I'm
completing His sentences now.
The double meaning of the title doesn't hit you until it's repeated at the end. The wry humour (not all that dark, surely) is just right for what you want to say.