Don't Jump
01.
The cool concrete is scratching on the soft under-side of my toes. So cool it burns. It gets like that at these heights. I fear that if I take another step the skin may tear apart and I will bleed out. The pain is that bad. Like walking on a thousand hot red needles, filled with nitric acid, ready to bubble and blister whatever it touches. Well, not quite.
The warm evening breeze greeting the tops of my bare naked feet unbiasedly is a stark juxtaposition from the pain searing just nearby.
I suppose you’re wondering why I'm barefoot at the top of a building, right?
I guess the easiest explanation… no, there is no easy explanation. It’s like sex. You wouldn’t have sex wearing shoes, would you? It’s just not right. What's passion without your toes curling back on themselves in the tingling moment’s before you scream your lovers name? No, you don’t wear shoes during sex, and you don’t wear shoes when you’re about to kill yourself. See the logic? Can you see how logically illogical it all is?
I'm rambling again. I blame the height. Heights always make me dizzy. My rambling is distracting me from looking down. Breathe. It's okay. Shut up brain.
The note is crushed in my pocket. Mum always said I didn’t have enough respect for my things. I always said she’d be the death of me.
I'm scared as hell. I’m scared to death. The air is tight. The sun is glaring. The words on the softened piece of paper make no real sense or truths. I’m rambling again. Words just fall from my lips. Bad habit. Old habit.
Dear mum and dad;
Shut up. I have no idea why I started it like that. I never call him dad. Dad presumes a level on intimacy that just doesn’t exist between us.
I’m sorry.
No I'm not.
I hate to leave with unfinished business.
Fuck you, you pretentious bastard.
I love you.
I hate what you did to me.
I just don’t see anything in being alive.
Dead, my secrets go with me.
I wish I could say it more simply.
You never did quite understand me, did you? Did you even try?
Goodbye.
3. 2. 1. Jump.
The warm evening breeze greeting the tops of my bare naked feet unbiasedly is a stark juxtaposition from the pain searing just nearby.
I suppose you’re wondering why I'm barefoot at the top of a building, right?
I guess the easiest explanation… no, there is no easy explanation. It’s like sex. You wouldn’t have sex wearing shoes, would you? It’s just not right. What's passion without your toes curling back on themselves in the tingling moment’s before you scream your lovers name? No, you don’t wear shoes during sex, and you don’t wear shoes when you’re about to kill yourself. See the logic? Can you see how logically illogical it all is?
I'm rambling again. I blame the height. Heights always make me dizzy. My rambling is distracting me from looking down. Breathe. It's okay. Shut up brain.
The note is crushed in my pocket. Mum always said I didn’t have enough respect for my things. I always said she’d be the death of me.
I'm scared as hell. I’m scared to death. The air is tight. The sun is glaring. The words on the softened piece of paper make no real sense or truths. I’m rambling again. Words just fall from my lips. Bad habit. Old habit.
Dear mum and dad;
Shut up. I have no idea why I started it like that. I never call him dad. Dad presumes a level on intimacy that just doesn’t exist between us.
I’m sorry.
No I'm not.
I hate to leave with unfinished business.
Fuck you, you pretentious bastard.
I love you.
I hate what you did to me.
I just don’t see anything in being alive.
Dead, my secrets go with me.
I wish I could say it more simply.
You never did quite understand me, did you? Did you even try?
Goodbye.
3. 2. 1. Jump.