I think about death now,
Not in the scary way.

Not in the burning rage
Of hating myself
And my life.

But in the quiet loneliness,
The silent solitude.
It doesn’t burn,
It soothes.

Death feels like some magical
Place
I could escape to.

You know when you’re trying
To spread frozen butter
On a piece of bread
And it keeps ripping
At the slice?
It’s silly,
But that’s how I feel
About everything.

Death isn’t a scary
Last resort to me
Anymore,
It’s a comforting
“Just in case.”