Sometimes I think of killing myself
How the end would be so nice
How the darkness would swallow me up
And how the numbness would suffice
My need

For all the voices of the feelings
That constantly keep me reeling
To softly slow to a hush
As my brain starts tur-tur-turning into mush

How wonderful it would be
To have that powerful silence
Not even grasshoppers would bother
To wake me

My cells would stop dividing
My brain would stop the lying
Myself would stop denying
What I truly want

But but but
This is just a reckless fantasy
A way to elude one’s own reality

Because as I sit here on the floor
Tears drip drip dropping
I realize there’s those who care for me more
Cherish me more
Love me more
Than I love my own self

The crickets chirp
I put the pills down

Moving on is not trying to deny the pain it brings to your chest when you hear their name mentioned, but acknowledging that it's there and nothing can be done about it. Moving on is touching all the places they used to touch and accepting that you'll never forget the memories you made together, but knowing that you can't go back. It is finally not wanting to go back. Moving on doesn't happen overnight and moving on isn't a switch that turns your love for them off. It's learning that it's a light that will always be lit, even though you don't need it anymore, even though it's in the corner of the room - dim and gathering dust. It is looking back and saying 'I miss you, I will always miss you. But I don't need you anymore.' It's realizing that you never did need them. And it's being able to think about your future without crumbling to pieces when facing the fact that they're not going to be a part of it anymore. Moving on is a deep cut across your chest that has healed but bears a nasty scar. It is the difference between actually feeling the pain and the memory of the pain. Sometimes you can't tell which one is worse. And sometimes you think you're right where you started because you hear a certain song or you drive past the restaurant where you went on your first date and everything inside you just wants to go back to when everything was okay. Moving on is bittersweet. You can't bear to let go, those tender moments where you finally believed your heart had a home after all, it has become a part of you. But no matter how much you want to, you can't forget the nights you spent piecing the shattered bits of your heart together, through misty eyes and with shaky hands. So moving on is accepting that the bad parts overrule the oh so exquisite ones. And the love you felt for them will never be enough to overcome the pain that came after. It is choosing yourself, even though you want to choose them. That's it. Moving on is choosing yourself and believing that you deserve so much more than what they could ever give you.

Watching stranger's kid playing on slides
I said to myself 'it won't last long'
The lady beside me, upset 'What?'
'The happiness' I said 'the joy in their smiles'
She stared at them, still upset 'Why?'
'They'll see the reality, and they'll know
It really is a mystery, or is a book
They climb up the ladder
And then joy ends within seconds
They slide down, happy screams
They must know the truth
It's the happiness leading to climb, again
They'll feel the value of sweat
The higher they climb, the longer they enjoy
It's really the game, they're playing right now
That creates difference and belief
To what comes next'
The lady asked 'what if a step breaks?'
'The reality has millions of slides,
better leave it and try the other one,
Or
trust himself and climb the broken
He would risk his life, but the joy will multiply
The harder they work, the sweetest they feel'
The lady asked 'where are you now?'
'I'm on the step, that might break any moment'

My room is looking emptier than it ever has before,
Got the clothes on my back; boxes are packed, sitting by the door.
Oh, how this is happening oh so soon feels like a dream,
But by the time the week is up, it’s me, my dorm, and the university.