It took over two packs of menthol cigarettes and all the daylight April 14th could provide for Rory Shannahan to figure it all out. With the deadbolt locked and all the cheap, nicotine stained curtains in his stuffy apartment hiding him from the world, he wrote the last few lines of his suicide letter...

the Zolfoft superheroI've becomesleep my life awayjust another stupid daythe telephone is ringing off the walltoo far down the hallcouldn't care who calls

...As he re-read his words on the tear spattered paper, he thought they had the makings of a good chorus if there was a funky enough baseline strolling behind it. He knew his mother wouldn't hear the music when she pulls the note free of his lifeless grip and gives it a read, and it made him smile devilishly.