I killed Myself Today

I stood at the cliff and looked at the setting sun.

I hurled myself to the hull and let the wind guide my flight.

I drove off the cliff with everything I had.

I stood at the brink of life and death, and held mine in my hands.

I drove the dagger of pain through my own heart and let the blood drip down.

I swore I would never let life show me where, but I did.

I killed myself today, so many times that I could die no more.

I took the gun and shot myself through the mouth.

I pulled the trigger and felt the impact.

I left my own body, and looked at it.

I looked down to my own lifeless self, a mass of nothing but what was.

I enjoyed the sensation, the border between the living and the dead.

I killed myself and looked for a white light, but I saw none.

I ended my life with despair and hanged myself with ropes of failure.

I took success and shit on it.

I took religion and pissed on it.

I took everything I ever believed in and buried it with the dead and dying.

I unplugged my own life support, looked at the white hospital ceiling and waited for the darkness.

It never came.

I killed myself in the hope that humanity would recognize me.

I wanted the world to be less of one person’s problems.

I wanted to free my friends from their penance.

I wanted to make my enemies happy, so I pilloried myself first.

I tied the sturdy rope on my shivering neck and stood on a stool.

I kicked my own life away and got a little hard.

I spit on my own vanity and drank the poison.

I felt despair, I felt failure and I hated the world.

I felt the cold air strike my face as I flew down the tall cliff.

It made my cheeks hard and frozen; I flew like a bird and hoped to be free.

I knew I would relish the opportunity to meet death, but would I like him?

What if it was a she?

Would she like me? Why would she, I had given myself to her, like a fool.

I am dead because I killed myself, but I have been waiting, and there is still no white light….just a dark cloudy and gloomy sky…

  • Nesta

    I envy your arrival at the only certainty there is to achieve–death.
    Great prose..

    • True my friend, tru….