Slowly, the sun began to rise again. Each and every day. Red eyes will soon be clear and clean again. Stretching my whole body while scratching my balls. Gently, trying myself to get out of my bed but heavy feeling inside of me keeps on pushing me backwards. Slowly, trying to recover and make myself feel ok. It's hard to pretend everything's ok. Not this time.
Slowly.
Slowly.
Slowly.
I'm sitting on my bed and staring at each and every corner of my room. My brain is a total blank. A whole mess but blank. My thoughts started flashing everything that I regretted. Every hurt, every tears, every day.
I can't think straight. I feel so lazy. Like I'm the most hopeless and helpless person on earth. Then suddenly, I ask myself,
what the fuck should I do right now?
I've been in my room for almost 2 weeks.
My life's slowly...
Slowly...
Slowly...
Toring apart.
I hate everything, I can't even remember why this happen to me. I can't talk about it. I shut everyone around. My parent weren't even worried about me, like the fuck they care. I can't show myself. I'm fucked up. I hate talking of these things over and over. I can't help myself. I'm just trying to survive even if my wrist has eight fresh slices and a flesh covering my dead soul. Trying to be stable.
Can you feel the hurt? The sadness that I'm carrying? I'm unwanted,
Unloved,
Gay,
Atheist,
Undergraduate,
Dick swallower,
Shy bitch,
Cunt fucker,
Then slowly...
Slowly...
Slowly...
I become numb.
I'm still sitting on my bed. Thinking and thinking about these things. Wishing my brain to explode already and scatter all over my room. I was tortured by my own thoughts. I was a victim of my own self. My mind was full of dark things. Maybe they're right. I am useless, no future, stand by, dickhead, douchebag, moron, stupid, and a waste.
Then slowly...
Slowly...
Slowly...
I wanna give up.
I went out of my room as quiet as I can. My brain began controlling my actions. I was crying and I don't even know why. I was looking for a rope, a knife, a dagger, an iron, pills, or anything to kill myself.
There I see, a bottle written 'muriatic acid'. This should be done this. I am tired. My blood clots started itching. Was this depression? You'll never know and as if like you care. You're just like one of those people who love seeing me die. So I'm giving you this kind of opportunity, a day that you'll never expected to happen. A day that you'll be looking for the true story behind my death. I won't say anything.
So there, staring at the closet. Looking for my favorite clothes and wear it because I wanna die look trendy as fuck. I went back on my bed, crying my eyes out. Shaking. Afraid. Hesitating. Then everything is blank again. Staring at the plastic bottle that I am holding.
Then slowly...
Slowly...
Slowly...
Opening the cap.
Tearing the paper covering the deadly hole. Then I smell toxic. I coughed so badly, but I guess it's good.
Hoping all of these ache be gone permanently. My eyes are swelling. My heart's pumping. I feel my heartbeat all over my head. It's like breaking.
this will hurt a bit.
I said to myself and for the last time, I smile. Like a crazy man. I'm trying to keep calm. Breaths heavily. Thinking about tomorrow, thinking of what should I be doing if there's still tomorrow? Will someone come and comfort me? Will someone say everything is gonna be alright? Will someone dare to get me out of my bed and hug me? I'm hesitating! Will you rescue me? I'm struggling again! I can't stop crying. Is there any hope? Is there any chance? Do I deserve to live? Will you help me fight with these struggles?
No.
I knew you can't help me. I knew you won't be sad and rather be happy because I already made it.
At last,
I can rest, in peace.
