Goodbye, World

Tonight I want to kill myself. I don’t know how I should do it but I know I want to do it. I keep thinking I should use a gun. I want to use something strong enough to work the first time I try. I want to use something that’ll do the most damage. I don’t want this heart. I don’t want this head. So, I want to try and shoot them both. Fuck, I don’t even think that’s possible - unless I get someone to do it for me. But, Dr. Kevorkian is dead. I want to stop loving profusely and I want to stop feeling sorry for myself. Why don’t I have an off switch to turn away these crazy thoughts? I don’t know. Dear God, I think you’re cruel. You truly are an innocent - the naïve creator. Didn’t you stop to wonder about the struggles I’d have to face alone, loveless, ugly, and rotten inside? A motherless, punished child! You were drunk. And it was too late to stop, right? Too giddy, Mr. Perfect, and not an evil thought or ounce of negativity to alter your courage as you molded and pressed and designed and created this…this person that I am. Me. Still empty inside in spite of the miles of veins and skin and thighs.

Disclaimer: Don't worry, readers—I am not going to kill myself.