The Allure of Suicide

 It's 8:55pm. There's no doubt in my mind that everyone who has ever breathed a breath of air has considered suicide at some point in their life. I'm sitting here, with nothing but the taste of death on my breath. "Oh how I would love to die in the arms of my lover!" They scream with such vivacity. I have fantasized many times of how I would die, in a sea of blood, the bullets hitting my flesh as bits of my being slowly rip from my bones. Or another time how I would simply swerve a little to the left hitting the oncoming truck with the full force of American made metallic muscle. How the flames of the fire would begin to singe and melt my skin away in a few agonizing minutes. Or even a simpler one, where I could use a shotgun and taste the iron on my lips before my teeth spring onto my brain making their own shotgun shells. No my death is sure to be a gruesome one, I think. Alas, I doubt it, more than likely I slip on a wet surface of my dingy apartment floor and use my brain as a cushion before my brittle bones could break the fall. How pitiful, truly it is to be elderly always watching to not accidently swallow too fast or too slow, to not forget to take a certain pill lest you shit yourself. I wish I had died sooner, I keep thinking. When I was younger I thought I would die by 21 I didn't expect to be alive right now. Now that I am, I don't know why to keep on living. I guess it's to better humanity in some way, but what if we don't have a reason to? There's no reason to trying to better this pounds of flesh that move within the walls of society, in fact there's not a fathomable reason to even be nice, then why try so hard? Maybe we should just leave each other to die. I mean, after all we all gotta die sometime.