strawberry jam

today, i killed myself. or at least, i think i did. i'm here writing this, the same blood that spilled out onto my body is pumping through it still, guiding my muscles into typing. too much inside, i guess. suicide always works. people want to tell you it doesn't, they want to tell you that it's stupid. but it always works, if you just go ahead and try. slit your wrist deep enough, watch as the blood spills out. do the bare minimum, put a band-aid over it until the sheer depth causes the band-aid to soak through, so much blood that the adhesive stops working. put another on. wash your hands. put another on. cut deeper. put another on.

today, i killed myself, and the worry means nothing to me. i didnt do it to worry other people. i did it because i wanted it to work. i did it because i wanted to kill myself. strawberry wounds ooze out nothing, completely clear once it leaves. looks like fresh jam. i had fresh jam, at a local place. they sell mason jars of it for $7. i bought one, when my girlfriend was here. for about a month, it was one of my few memories of her. but now she's gone and i've killed myself.

i killed myself, and it was pathetic, in a lot of ways. you can't do it without being an attention whore. inherently, to kill yourself is to want attention, even if you truly don't. and you can't tell anyone you did it. because if you do, they're going to kill themselves. brain poison where the cure is a kitchen knife. men get to do it with guns, isn't that cool? they don't succeed, but they at least get the luxury of something cool. put gun-metal green to your forehead and pull the trigger, lose 20 years of public school in an instant. not your life, just what you were. good luck killing yourself when you're a vegetable. they don't even let autists buy guns. that's why women can't kill themselves.

i killed myself, and nobody knew. nobody saw. nobody truly understands why i did it, the thought of telling anyone is worse than killing myself. to accept the truth of what makes me want to do it is somehow worse than if i just ended it. roadblock in the way, solution is a razor. and a razor would never work, because killing yourself doesn't work. it did for me, but it won't for you. because killing yourself is stupid.

i killed myself, and it meant nothing. i killed myself while looking at a game the same age i am. it aged better than i ever could, and it doesn't matter anymore. because i killed myself.

one day, i think i'll kill myself for a better reason. something that actually matters. i could kill myself for a purpose. i could self-immolate in protest. i could do it on a livestream, make myself shock video footage. i could kill myself for something i believe in, but in the end i pledge allegiance to being a moron. i killed myself for nothing. and nothing matters. in this world, you kill yourself or revolt. do you really think i can revolt?