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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