I have become so caught up in romanticizing suicide.
It is 2am and you are preoccupied, not knowing.
I am sitting up thinking of a hundred ways to end this and what I would write to each and every person I want to be leaving.
Some I don’t want to leave. But it would be for the best.
I can feel it in my bones. They don’t stick out as much as I want them to.
The life has been drained all the way from my brain to my fingertips.
My blood is grey. My heart is freezing fire, and I’m being crushed to dust.
I am a black hole feeding on the emotions of everyone around me.
But it’s leaking out of my cuts, everything I feel is dripping salt water.
I can’t tell what is real and what is fake. Everything and everyone is so cruel.
I wonder if even my smile is real or fake?
All my words shake as they roll off the tip of my tongue.
Sadness bottled into useless anger.
Please don’t cry for me. I cried enough for everyone already.