The plan

This comes from the darkest reaches of my mind. I get depressed, and I think "death".

How tall is the bridge, from the top of the tower, to the roadway?
The water is too forgiving.
I want all to see the horror, early in the morning rush.
Will they gasp, will they cry, will they say "oh well", or laugh?
I want the concrete's hard, cold farewell.
I want my blood to paint the vehicles as they pass.
Will they cry themselves to sleep, will they seek counseling?
I don't know.
I hope they cheer me for my bravery, my will to die and seek the unknown.