I find comfort in make believe-
Fantasies
The way others might find comfort
In the thought of their lungs
Filling up
With water
But, the idea of drowning terrifies me
I’ve ran to the edge of a cliff before telling myself
The rocks might soften the blow
Catch me,
Before the water does
My skull will splinter and lay amongst the dirt.

I couldn’t find the courage to jump
However, I try to tell myself that laying down on the cotton wool grass
And looking up into space with tears running down my face
Whilst a voice tells me
“Sort your **** out before you truly do collapse”
Before I do go over the cliff's edge
Is far braver then becoming
Scattered bones
Amongst the water's side
There is such an ugliness with the obsession with wanting to die
It's far more than wanting though
Even more than a release
It’s a craving, a sick twisted addiction
A constant need-

Because once I am dead I will rot
I will become one with the Earth
Become a part of the soil
There is an uncertain ease in knowing that my body without function
Has so much more
Purpose
Compared to the one sitting here, breathing
With a heart beating on the inside
It’s like all I do with my time is drink tea and get high
Or
Dress up and get drunk

I’ve got these two people inside of me
But each of them both live in fear of sobriety
So instead of diving into liquid, giving the dramatics
I will destroy my organs and my mind
Because right now it feels like a way to simply past the time
There is always too much time
And self- destruction through substance
Feels like far less of a commitment
Then committing to actually jumping

Maybe I am not brave at all
Because I still lack the courage
To not destroy myself
One way or another.