occasionally i think about ways i want to die. it’s a buffet spread, really. i used to want to die in a high speed collision but i’d rather not paint the metal canvas with my carcass; drowning is also out of the question, i’ve had enough salty liquid on my cheeks and i want none in my lungs. when i was younger i’d sit by the window staring at my estate, coming up with routes to escape if a murderer ever came after us. now i’m not so sure. i might even leave a glass of warm milk by the gate. they say when you’re baptised you die and come back to life. in that manner i have died twice already, perhaps i should’ve stayed dead the second time. i’m not necessarily suicidal, i’m just saying that i can’t seem to visualise myself past 25 years old