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A Slow Death


I'd like a do-over.


I'd like to go back to the first day I thought down upon myself, or the first day I let the bully become myself rather than a passing upperclassmen in the hall. I'd like to change how things started. Then maybe things would be different now. 


Don't get me wrong, I love the way some things are now. The stillness in the air at 3 am, because I no longer sleep all night by your side. The burning taste of a cigarette on the back of my throat and the idea that everyone is judging me for the way I've decided to slowly kill myself. But isn't that what we're all doing. Slowly killing ourselves. Caffeine, cigarettes, cock, candy, crying. We're all slowly withering into shrubs of nothing.


I'd like to say I'm different. I'd like to believe that I have a reason to kill myself. But that wouldn't be fair, although the world's a cruel place. So maybe we take these things that kill us and we use them. Use them to feel something, whether it's the eye of disapproval or a minute of pure pleasure. We're all killing ourselves to feel alive. That's the cruel part of the world, the irony. 


I want to go back to the beginning and see if 8th grade me would choose a different path. One of more courage and less self hate. Maybe I wouldn't be sitting inside my car outside a house with free wifi, typing this in hopes of making rent in a few weeks. Rent to an apartment that I don't spend any time in. Simply a place to hold my belongings and mail until I return. 


I don't know if I'll ever return. Its no longer my home. I no longer have a home, I simply drift. If you're lucky enough the breeze might blow me your way. Ill lay a soft tongue on your heart with words of endearing days. But if the breeze blows too strongly one day, I'll have to part ways. But you knew that, deep down you always knew that.

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A Slow Death
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