An urge of the mind sometimes wants me to end my life quickly- throwing myself over railings, crashing head on at 100mph, consuming multitude of colorful pills, falling onto broken shards of glass, pulling a ghastly trigger-exploding my brain amongst the floor and walls that were painted red with the pain that floods my head. All of these are inviting- yet I still fear the sensation of the air in my lungs being invaded by the water incasing my body- the sensation of drowning not offering me a quick relief, only a suffocating death I recognized to fear more then the poke of an eye. I fantasize about my death often; how, when, even where it could happen… Even though I fear my end, I oddly greet it as time ticks slowly on a padlock that holds grim truths. I could curse the world and the habitants who live on it, but it is I who subconsciously laughs at my own self loathing, the black pit in my stomach that lurches at my doubts and worries, my fears amplifying as I feel I’m being launched back into a familiar past feeling I spite more then myself. I laugh often at nothing, because I feel as if I’m slowly edging into the pool of Hell, only to be beckoned out to be thrown back in-
Maybe I’m throwing myself back in.