Status: Go and live your life 'cause I can't save it.
The City Lights
Bright Lights That Wont Kill Me Now.
11 hours and 24 minutes. Seconds rhythmically wasting away until my mortally is met in a glamorous manor. In all the dreams of reaching the end, I wanted to copycat others like me.
Nothing original or striking.
Nothing that needed figuring out.
Nothing to set the survivors uneasy.
Seldom had I ever really stopped to weigh my options for the way I wanted out, it'd been something I'd spent far too long being all too sure of. And yes, I'd taken the time to consider the aftermath of my suicide. Who would shedding genuine tears and who would be forced into playing a part in the production. Going through the motions of sadness. Who would be heartbroken or a breed of devastated when they heard the (un)fortunate news, and the questions they'd ask.
What a god-ugly word suicide is. No matter what other synonyms are used to dress it up and play it down, the word still makes me cringe. Offing myself, pressing eject early, calling it quits, meeting morality. All just compulsions to dance around the sorry truth that someone can't muster up the will to face another sunrise and go on with the show.
I finally cleaned out the last remaining bits of food and expired condiments from my refrigerator. Apple jelly opened a week ago to make a single sandwich, then shoved to the back and forgotten. Eggs and bread and other common food staples had been plowed through a day or two ago with no need to replenish. Its not like anyone would be eating it. An open box of baking soda to keep the inside smelling tolerable. A stick of butter, leftovers I never had any intention of reheating, Half of a pepper, and mayonnaise in the smallest jar sold at the grocery store. Merely a step above the packets handed out at fast food restaurants and convenience stores.
Everything fit into a plastic bag. I tied it gently, saying goodbye to the food I'd purchased to waste. Escorting it down the flight of stairs and getting lost in my thoughts. Dispensing meaningless greetings and mindless waves to the other dwellers of the the stairwells and hallways. An inefficient path to the putrid dumpsters out back.
Just shy of 11 hours til the colors fade and the light is my last thing to look forward to. I'm neither worried or overly concerned.
"I don't want you to cry, I don't even want you to care." Paper words on a jaded tongue.
Nothing original or striking.
Nothing that needed figuring out.
Nothing to set the survivors uneasy.
Seldom had I ever really stopped to weigh my options for the way I wanted out, it'd been something I'd spent far too long being all too sure of. And yes, I'd taken the time to consider the aftermath of my suicide. Who would shedding genuine tears and who would be forced into playing a part in the production. Going through the motions of sadness. Who would be heartbroken or a breed of devastated when they heard the (un)fortunate news, and the questions they'd ask.
What a god-ugly word suicide is. No matter what other synonyms are used to dress it up and play it down, the word still makes me cringe. Offing myself, pressing eject early, calling it quits, meeting morality. All just compulsions to dance around the sorry truth that someone can't muster up the will to face another sunrise and go on with the show.
I finally cleaned out the last remaining bits of food and expired condiments from my refrigerator. Apple jelly opened a week ago to make a single sandwich, then shoved to the back and forgotten. Eggs and bread and other common food staples had been plowed through a day or two ago with no need to replenish. Its not like anyone would be eating it. An open box of baking soda to keep the inside smelling tolerable. A stick of butter, leftovers I never had any intention of reheating, Half of a pepper, and mayonnaise in the smallest jar sold at the grocery store. Merely a step above the packets handed out at fast food restaurants and convenience stores.
Everything fit into a plastic bag. I tied it gently, saying goodbye to the food I'd purchased to waste. Escorting it down the flight of stairs and getting lost in my thoughts. Dispensing meaningless greetings and mindless waves to the other dwellers of the the stairwells and hallways. An inefficient path to the putrid dumpsters out back.
Just shy of 11 hours til the colors fade and the light is my last thing to look forward to. I'm neither worried or overly concerned.
"I don't want you to cry, I don't even want you to care." Paper words on a jaded tongue.
♠ ♠ ♠
No more hiatus!