desidia

Then I went and killed myself with a utility knife. Because thats what I've always wanted to do. The Warcraft III expansion pack just wasn't making he hold on like it used to and summer was going to be a joke and lets face it, I wasn't getting going to get any prettier. And here I was the life pouring out of my right arm and I couldn't decide where I wanted to die. I didn't want to end it in my room, so I trailed blood into the hall and into the shower. It seemed like the television thing to do, but it was stuffy and yellow, the towel colours were clashing and I couldn't stand it at all. I don't know how I did in life, but in death it was unforgivable; the loose hairs, the lint, the spiderwebs. I wanted to clean it, bleach and scrub and wipe the whole bathroom away. Clean it back into the Earth.

I ended up in the kitchen, falling against the wall to guide me to the floor. for a moment I forgot about how sick I felt and noticed I'd never seen the kitchen from this persepective. You take things for granted like perspective. You never think about anything at any level then eye level.
The red was starting to pool under the refridgerator and I almost thought something spilled in there.
and I was sinking sinking sinking into the floor, into the puddle. and maybe I should have picked a better place.
where the roomates wouldn't see me when they came out for coffee, where they wouldn't see my empty body every time they went to make coffee until they moved out of this apartment and back home for summer. I stared at them though they weren't there and tried to apologize with my eyes, the mouth too weak, the brain too weak to work the mouth.

My mind drifted away from my body, and my last thought was wondering where the utility knife ended up.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxTHIS IS MY EROTICAxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Maybe I'm just cranky because its been about a week without sex or a cigarette.

Some people say they wished they died in the womb or never been borne at all. But you know what? Not me.

I'd want to die by my own hands, I'd want the world to know that I lived, that I was here, and despite everything it had to offer and everyones best efforts, it wasn't enough. I'd want the world to know that I'd rather die then stay on it another day. Don't worry though, I'll be here tomorrow; tonight I'm just practicing.

I feel used, and not in a good way.
fuckin' a, when will I run out of angsty shit and depression? its been a bad week.