Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have
Immortal longings in me . . . .—William Shakespeare

Before I place the asp upon my breast,
My God, before I pull the trigger back…
I have a song to sing that suites me best:
The pain I dish today is black on black
And brings a dreadful new beginning now,
For who can stand before the throne and plead
With “guilty” written boldly on her brow?
My note’s complete, I ask for one last deed:
That family watch my children every day,
Just like they have while I’ve been bare and numb,
Laid waste by Beelzebub—a devilish way
To leave this world, and yet I have his gun…
I’ll take the wings of morning, Lord, I plead,
For even deep below Your hand shall lead.†

†Sunny left her Bible open to Psalm 139 before she took her own life: 

If I take the wings of the morning
And dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
Even there your hand shall lead me (Psalm 139:9, 10.