Picture Perfect

  November 29th, 2009 by megalot

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.

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