⚠️ Trigger Warning ⚠️

I’m not suicidal,
I fear death.

I think about dying—
it's always a vivid, beautiful, sunny day.

I just want to bleed, cuts under the skin.
I just want to starve, protruding bones.
I just want to disappear, non-existent.

I’m trying to get my affairs in order,
to tend to my responsibilities,
to care for my loved ones
just in case.

I’m not suicidal,
at least, I don’t think I am.

I fear death.