The slowest and most painful method of killing yourself is living your life. You lose the control over how you die, when you die, and where you die… But you know it’s going to happen whether or not you command it. Let yourself suffer until it’s the right moment, then they can’t blame you. Your memory won’t be stained, you haven’t done anything wrong… Maybe you bruised a few lives… Destroyed the relationships that meant something…

What’s the difference in waiting? Tell me you can do that. I know you can if you’re contemplating the idea of dying. You are strong enough. If you’re willing enough to die, you are willing to take that moment. Prolong it. You don’t know what might happen.

Sure, no one can get close to you anymore. You don’t understand the idea of healthy relationships because you are constantly putting yourself in toxic ones; self destruction. You’ve blocked memories, thoughts, and feelings with walls… As if acknowledging yourself and who you are would be the worst thing in the world.

I can’t be the only one… I know I’m not the only one who looks at the world with hypocritical eyes. I loathe the hope I cling to, despise the dreams I constantly go on about.

This life isn’t lasting. I already know what I want when I die. I don’t want there to be a trace of me, no gravestone, no body. I want to be ash and scattered into the dirt because that’s where I belong; not with the dead that hold onto such nonsense as a rock to possess their memory.

I don’t want to be remembered. Not by a stranger who steps over me in search for another. I don’t want to be wondered about. I either want to be known or nothing;

Existing in what is overlooked.