… and it all ends. A knife to my stomach. What’s sad is I know it won’t kill me unless I bleed to death. Since I rarely step out and noone visits me, that is quite possible. But just the pleasure of repeatedly stabbing myself will be worth the embarrassment of being saved from my ‘suicide attempt’.
Just don’t have the guts yet. What if I die? How will I fuck up then? No. Not time. Not yet.