sometimes i think about the way a heavy snowfall mutes all surrounding noise
what beauty is capable of.
though different, this beauty is also in the rain
and the way its droplets tap on our windows.
i wonder if people can communicate in a way so graceful,
perhaps loving stares and skin-on-skin suffice.

i wish people could be beautiful in the way sunsets are.
i wish there was a word for the way sun shimmers against ocean waves
or the feeling that overcomes your body when you know the sea is nearby,
though it hasn't come int view just yet.
i wish the moonlight that dances on my skin had a feeling,
in the same way that sunlight does.

if i could recreate this world, i'd do it differently
i'd give sound to the sizzling of asphalt on a hot summer day
the sun itself may have a soft hum as well.
the twinkling of stars would mimic chimes
the only thing i wouldn't have to change is your smile
that already brings me warmth.

my story exists in the lower keys
the ones that strike your heartstrings and echo in your empty chest.
it lies in the shadows just outside of the glow that a streetlight provides
on a dark, cold night.
check the bruises on your arms, and the slashes on your legs
it'll be there, too.
it's in the nights spent sitting in the shower with the water running cold
the numbness, that's it.
it's feeling too weak to get out of bed in the morning
and having only the energy to stare at the wall.
the tiny cut on your finger you didn't know was there until you squeezed a lime
it's the stinging.
that's where I exist
in the pain
in the dark
in the lower keys.

i can't recall at what age i no longer feared death.
perhaps it was the day i saw a dead raccoon in the street,
puking its insides outward, like it ate something regrettable.
or maybe it was the day a suicide attempt brought a body to our shore
and though i was told to look away, i could not.
regardless of what brought me to this state, here i remain,
dismantling razors to get to their blades.
my skin has always been dry, like canvas,
so it only makes sense to use it as such,
a storyboard of misery and anguish covered my thighs
because anything was better than feeling numb.
i sometimes fantasize about what it must feel like to die
is it similar to the feeling of a sunshower on your skin,
or perhaps the wind dancing through your hair?
i've been dying to find out.
i'm aware that death is a fad these days
whether overdose or accident, slates are wiped clean
past mistakes erased.
if the promise of a swift and painless demise could be universal,
i'm sure more would feel the same as i.
what's scary is the pain, the unimaginable pain
that accompanies swallowing a fistful of pills or a swig of bleach
it's agony.
i've found myself closer and closer to reaching this point,
this point where i've no reason to be, and god,
it's so hard to backtrack.
in the same way that it's difficult to breathe easy,
the nearly impossible is found when i try not to mourn
what i haven't yet lost.

today was the day she was supposed to **** herself.

---

she woke to singing birds in the same bed where she googled how many sleeping pills she had to take for it to be lethal.
what can be done of a girl breathing so heavy she throws up her tears and screams so quietly she couldn't even hear herself suffering until it was too late?
she's a lost cause.
an afterthought, the newspaper you used to line your dog's crate.
she's the candy wrapper that missed the trash can and flew with the wind, only to get caught in the storm drain with the next torrential downpour.
she's been singing alone for weeks now.
today was the day she was supposed to **** herself.
today was the day she was supposed to swallow as many pills as she could fit down her throat
and subsequently lay in bed until they burnt holes through her body
she was supposed to bleed through her sheets, alone and suffering silently.
she was supposed to drown in her tears and scream until water filled her lungs
she was to go silently into the day with only her body to remain.
she was supposed to **** herself today.
this was her chance
and she ******* blew it.

---

she couldn't make it through the letters.
she had them all addressed, scratched in her messy handwriting
which was only worsened by her shaking hands.
she couldn't write them
she didn't make it past him
she could feel tears welling in her already so very tired eyes as she thought of how to tell her best friend and first true love that she couldn't hold on anymore
that she couldn't stand singing alone anymore.
she couldn't do it.
she couldn't make it through the letters.

---

i had to wait over an hour to be connected to someone from the suicide prevention hotline.
thinking back on it now, it's quite a flawed system.
someone might not have had so long to wait.
i know now that i never could have actually done it
i never could have said goodbye to the morning sun or the falling leaves
i would've missed the sea far too much.
i would've missed the feeling of knowing the ocean is nearby without actually having it in my line of sight
that's one of the best feelings in the world, i promise you.
i would've missed your hand in mine, and i would've missed our long drives.
i wouldn't trade those for the world.

---

today was the day i was supposed to **** myself.
but i didn't,
and i won't,
so long as the tides keep changing,
and the earth keeps spinning,
and the birds keep chirping.