When I picture killing myself I don’t think about the act itself.
(Col. Mustard with the candlestick in the kitchen.)
I picture myself on a raft in the middle of the ocean. My eyes are closed as the waves gently rock me like a loving mother rocks her sleeping child. The sun is beating down on my face, warming me; thawing me. I am no longer a numb block of ice, carved to resemble a 17 year old girl. The wind is gently licking my face, the way a lover kisses your neck.
Drifting, floating, nothingness.
5 comments
Yeah it sounds a nice way to go honey, very poetic, very serene and peaceful…
When I go I want to be in my warm comfy bed on a cold, wet and windy night while beautiful music lulls me to sleep one last time…
It sounds beautiful. I picture myself lying in a field full of flowers. If you ever want to talk my email is isabofray@aol.com. Hang in there.
I don’t picture anything. I just feel the weight lifted off me, but the way you described it, I can’t put into words temptation that arises..
I’ve even picked out the albums i want to listen to as I die, how fucking sad is that!? hey are: Funeral, A Rush Of Blood To The Head, Trials Of Van Occupanther and Dark Side Of The Moon. Ideally that’s the way I want to go, quietly listening to my favorite music as I lose conciseness, only time will tell I guess… =(