on this day.

why i'm not dead yet.

x. WHY I'M NOT DEAD YET.

jokingly and straight forward, i want to be able to answer this with the confidence of i don't know. it's as simple as this, i love being alive, living, can't you tell? maybe i'm not dead yet because i want to be able to wash away lies, the ones that have stuck themselves to me like gum on the bottom of black converse, stained my porcelain skin like ink that can't be scrubbed away. maybe it's because i can never find satisfaction in my suicide notes. i've spent numerous amount of nights thinking of this, the one thing that'll i'll leave behind as my final wave of goodbye. how do i convince my mother that it wasn't her fault? apologize to my brother for traumatizing him for the rest of his life when he has to help scrub the blood stains away? my father, does he even deserve a single word? three am thoughts leave me tangled, a mess at most. or maybe it's neither of these, maybe its more down to the bone. maybe i really am a coward, can't fight demons for shit, or maybe i like the comfort of them and that's why i continue to ask them to stay. maybe i don't want my mother to have to sit through her child's burial, in a coffin smaller than the one her own mother was put in. funerals are expensive, i don't want her to waste her time and the money we don't have on something as worthless as me. maybe i don't want to sit on the edge of the bed, where she can't see me, watch her mourn over what used to be. spend most of her days in my closet, holding the box of memories i have of just her. have my father empty out my room, or maybe they'll leave it exactly how i left it. board up my door because the ghost of everything i never was haunts the walls. everything that i was meant to be. maybe it's because i want one last session with my therapist, see how well it goes. maybe it's because i've run out antidepressant pills. maybe it's because i'm not satisfied with my own self. maybe i want to die happy, want to know i've done well while i decay. leave my name in the spine of books that turn into movies, have my first kiss, visit paris, buy the perfect outfit. i'm afraid of the dark, that has something to do with it. stare up at a wooden plank, drill nails into it while i lie awake, still hear these loud voices in my head yelling you've done it. buy that pug i've always wanted, name it mooka, moo for short. fall head over heels with a guy i deserve, fill my heart with lindor truffles and music that radiates joy. make trustworthy friends, throw the toxic ones away. listen to the roar of admirers to the premiere of my own movie. find new details in the signature that could be sold for millions one day. get wicked drunk, swing from a chandelier in a house i can barely afford, sing loudly to a karaoke machine that plays such a nostalgic song that i feel thirteen again. read back old diaries, see how far i've grown. rock in a chair with a newborn that holds my eyes and the button nose i've always adored. trip back into love, love with myself. love myself until my bones are steel again, begin to believe again. cry because i'm happier than i've ever been.

maybe i'm not dead yet because i do have something to live for. myself. my friends. my mother. my future children. the soulmate that wanders the world clueless right now.

maybe, just maybe, i'm not dead yet because i have so much more to give.

so scratch that, death will understand that these late night screams are only a wake up call. he'll continue to tuck me into bed, kiss my forehead, letting me know he's always close by. i'll send him lit flares when i know it's time to say goodbye.