My suicide felt like an escape,
waking up felt like a sentence.

Married to death in words only,
falling asleep felt conjugal.

Night visits,
brief moments of peace,
before being thrown into
the deep end.

Death had grown me in captivity,
making me forget how to survive.

I had become dependent
on death's solace.

I sobered myself to reality,
death's sweetness
oscillated in ways
too unpredictable
for comfort.

Life treats me better
than death ever did.

Although there are moments,
where I wish to return into the blankness of death,
into the carelessness of nothing.

I remember how far I've come,
and how proud I would be,
to look into the future and see,

that I love life.