Death In Pieces

Why can’t I decide to just walk into a suicide gallery, gather my final thoughts, and curtain call the entire moment into a fiery requiem?

It hurts to love myself…how can I love another?

My soul is defined by death in pieces.

I wish I could erase your pain.

I wish you hated me with feverish scorn.

I want you to beguile me and ridicule me and tell me that I am worthless.

Tell me how much you loathe me and how much better you would feel if I were erased from this world in one vile swoop.

If I had your hate for me to my advantage, and knew you would take pleasure in having me buried….I would dispatch myself from this rancid reality without so much as a hesitation on my part.

I would do this for you.

I would take this knife and shove it into my throat…drown in my own hot disgusting blood.

I would utter not a painful cry or an eerie shriek.

I would die in solitude so that you can hear the last breath vanish from my body.

I would douse myself in kerosene beforehand and as my knees gave out from the knife thrust, fall upon a thousand matches and lighters lit.

I would wither and turn to ash so that you will not have a trace of me in existence.

I would do it atop a mountain so high, flanked by the ocean, so that I would be lost at sea.

And as for you, you would not have to look back.

For the last thing I would want you to see, would be the clouds so high in the sky, waving at you, convincing you to stay awhile and flock with the ganders.

A fire is in flames for only so long.

It mesmerizes hopefuls into also eradicates the defilers….so that they may never defile again.


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