Surrender

“floating away in a dreamless slumber
her laughter will be the last thing that comforts me
as I drift away from home”

I often dream about how it’s going to take place. Maybe a slip of the foot, and I “accidentally” fall into the pit as the train approaches, unable to stop itself from coming to a halt. What will it take…a second or two for my vertebrae to snap? For my head to whiplash against the windshield as the driver watches in awe...or maybe its horror. I smile briefly at the image of my blood splattering across the walls to the right of the train, and the left side, onto the faces of the shocked onlookers. A passenger on the train opposite me smiles back, misinterpreting my intention. There will definitely be blood. Lots of it. Hmm. Splattered blood. Sounds…artsy. Or how about my elbow accidentally [yes. Accidents do happen a lot. Especially to me, born a klutz.] swiping a glass, at the edge of a counter, while I clean the dishes. When no one is watching I will carefully collect a few sharp pieces. Small enough to hide, but sharp enough to cut through my skin. My wrist. There are a few, veins [that crisscross each other] that protrude above my left arm. Huh. They look like Y’s. weird. There I go again with the “artsy” stuff. Anyways. I’ll probably miss the first time. What with me having the strength of a four year old. Ha! I know. Pathetic. So it might take 2 or 3 tries before the cut is deep enough to break through the skin. A pool will form around me as I slump against the wall of the bathroom, eyes glazed open. A smile on my face. No. The bedroom. My sisters bedroom. The lock on her door actually works. Plus, I can’t help but feel satisfied knowing it's going to be a bitch to get the stain out of the carpet. A few of the creepy crawlies that we can’t see with the naked eye might have the unfortunate destiny of drowning in my blood. At least they get to eat before they drown. [sorry. horrible humor] Then again pills are the safest and fastest way to go. A mix of the wrong drug and...nah. Overdosing. Now that’s the way to go. Marilyn Monroe AND Elvis Presley did it. See, it’s a trend…among cool people. [They always wanted me to be cool.] Sigh. My sister knows me too well. Even as I write this down [while standing on a train and walking across the bridge. That’s skill!] with a smile on my face, she’s very aware that I’m writing about suicide. Ah, my sister. I’ll miss her the most. I’ll be thinking about her a lot, as I go though it. Whether it be a train or a sharp object or pills. She’ll be the last thing on my mind.

“I drift away from home”