Dark

I’m so tired of this. Every night the urge gets worse. Worst part is, I don’t think I’ll ever work up the nerve to kill myself. I can’t buy a gun, and there’s no way to hang myself (nothing sturdy enough to withstand the jolt of a body dropping). I don’t have strong enough rope, anyway. There’s a knife in here with me, and in the moments when I slither out of bed to look out at the sky–star light star bright please don’t make me live another night–I hold it, study it, contemplate it. It’s blunt, and forcing it past layers of skin and fat would be difficult, not to mention painful. Sleeping pills? Already failed to OD. They’d only clog my system and I’d likely linger a few days. A few days too long. All these thoughts, and more specific ones which I won’t say as to adhere to site policy, run though my brain, loitering. So much thought, not enough follow though.
It’s a pity, I could have done great things.