When cats hide for days on end, refusing meals and no longer enjoying the things they typically would, chances are they're dying. By the time someone notices, it might already be too late. They will have passed in a shadowy corner of the attic. Such is the nature of the animal, and of life.
Every day, a new droplet falls into my bucket. Sometimes two or three or a whole glassful. When the bucket overflows, there's no pretending. Insinct claws at the surface. Smiles are boulders in the rising tide. I retreat inwards. Food loses its allure. Books fill the waking light. I sleep and read and sleep and soak my pillow. I endure the flooding. Eventually, people notice something's wrong, but by then, the worst has already passed. This is my curse— my endless spiral, until one day, I too will fade. Quietly, in a shadowy corner. The dying cat effect.
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Blood Orange Periphery
PoetryMy suicide had been two years in the making when I decided not to follow through at the last minute. Over the past decade, I've written poems, books, short stories, fanfiction and hundreds of thousands of words, but nothing felt complete. This coll...
