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Writer's pictureTin Can Poetry

On Dying By Debby E

I think about killing myself a lot

curious and excitable,


I find myself leaning

maybe a little too far into the idea


but I think the only thing stopping me

is the image of my body devoid of life


my contorted corpse unnaturally sprawled across the floor in my room 

slumped over, propped up by my bed frame


hollowed out cheeks and distant, lifeless half-lidded eyes 

melanin stripped from my skin washed over with a light grey


how I wouldn't be found for a while,

how long it'd take for someone to realise my absence.


One of my hobbies is lying down in uncomfortable positions pretending to be dead

and excitedly pondering the possibility


I think, “how happy would I be to be dead?”,

forgetting that dead people can't feel.


I’m scared of how I might look if I died

because I only just started being pretty and I don't want to lose that so soon.

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