Rewrite of someones poem, its a great hobbie of mine

I've always complained of a knot to untangle,

But now my throat is left to mangle.

I was never one to rot on a chair,

But my choices leaded me not to care.

with my stool turned away from the table,

They'll speak of me as no more then a fable.

Me, swinging, nothing left to do,

My grip loosens at the last loop.

Please, I cry,

Don't leave me here to die.

I shall dance in the shoes of suicide. 

Danke to:

Stephen (He/him) for the base idea:

knots are hard to untangle,

but here i am tieing them,

im not a chairperson,

but here in my room,

with my chair turned from my desk,

and the knot i shall never untie,

and me, hanging, waiting for somthing to happen,

my grip loosens,

please,

don't leave me hanging,

at least see me for one last time