From the night I almost killed myself.

 I'm not going to kill myself. At least not yet,

But I do want to die.

I guess I'm just ungrateful 'cause

I feel like I'll leave nothing behind.

So right now my mind's been on

imagining the peace of death and

that sweet release is

wanting to cut off my head.

I do believe it's time, and who knows,

the end may be sublime.

And who can say, perhaps there is

another life after mine.

A life with laughter where I could

plaster

happy pictures on my wall.

A life where I'm a master over all this

chaos and disaster.

A life where I'm faster and stronger

than I am now.

Someplace sweeter and safer where

I'm happy in the knowledge that I'd

never again be this close to a fall.

When I go, I'd like something to come

of it.

So sure, you could just throw my ass in

the trash, but maybe it'd be wiser

to tie my body to a tree for others to

see.

I could be an example. I could be

a way for folks to sample and get

a much-needed taste of what a

wasteful life provides.

I'd be grateful for a rope that gets me

hanging, dangling high for the birds to

start mangling, and possibly plucking

out my eyes.

This could be an opportunity for you

spectators to finally wonder about

me, and ponder about me. Maybe

you'll find understanding on why you

should never strive to survive like me.

Wouldn't you all realize after

something so grotesque as this,

without experiencing for yourselves,

who you should never be?

A fucked-up guy like me.

So please, float my bloated corpse

down the river.

Let me be the one to deliver the

shivers and quivers to the sinners who

witness this.

Let it be my pittance for living a life

that's absolute piss.

I'd like for it to be like this. I'd cherish

being seen as someone who served a

purpose.

Even if I achieved more through my

death than what I ever achieved when

I still held breath.

Yes, yes, when I decay you can come

and play with my body.

This would allow the stench of me

rotting to not be forgotten,

and my story surely would be logged in

a book on your shelves.

And to avoid being like me, you would

start helping yourselves.

Maybe then I'd help somebody and

be a teacher with merit instead of a

fake-ass derelict.

Instead of a pharisee who bleeds

without reason and only makes

decisions when gaining, or something,

is given.

Yeah, I can't fucking bear it. Me being

so useless.

So throw me in a garrote that the

people canter towards.

Come banter like cancer as I twitch

and twist.

Just a pretty dancer.

This life is a war and I want no more

of it.

I'd like to move forward, but of course,

I won't kill myself.

I just want to die.

I know it's a dark thought and that it's

harsh.

I know these remarks are stark and

mark my heart with pocks and scars.

Yet, where it starts?

I don't know.

But this confusion leads

the seeds of desire to expire then

inspires me

to aspire to reach somewhere higher

by departing to the next realm.

You see I've lost my grip on the helm

of my existence,

and in this instant, I'm ready to go.

If nothing else, at least my body's

decomposition would help the flowers

grow.

But I won't kill myself. No, I just want

to die.

Listen to me!

I know that it's simplistic how

I'm complicit in sinking the decrepit ship

I've been sitting in.

I can see it!

And it's clear that I've needed no

accomplice to accomplish the

self-admonishment

I've been slipping in.

Please! Listen to me!

I fucking hate being psycho, a

dirtbag, an asshole stuck in a cycle

that's constant and persistent.

It's been so consistent I cannot even

begin to start forgetting it.

I may be so maniacal I'll just be stuck

here in it.

I suppose it could be the springs in

my bed that keep stabbing my back

in an attack that continually racks my

head and prevents me from sleeping,

which prevents me from healing.

But I fucking doubt it.

More likely it's the fear of feeling

fearfully forever.

Or maybe I'm worried I'll worry about

feeling terribly and never getting

better.

So it seems as though believing that

by leaving the hurt I'll find something

that works.

And through this, I'll find some sort of

worth.

Because right now I hold little hope

of finding sincerity, value, clarity, or purpose

in my life.

And yeah, right now I wish only that

an end would reach me.

Right now I just want to choke.

But I refuse to break out the rope.

I refuse to miss the morrow's sun rise.

-Butterfly


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