Imagining My Suicide
I’m tired of imagining my suicide.
The peace in my mind with my body
under gravity.
An asteroid
hurtling towards the ground
denting the surface only barely
noticeable.
Will they smile soon?
Will their corners lift as days dilute the memories
into minuscule concentrations?
Making the bitterness only an aftertaste,
slight enough to be utterly forgettable.
For them to step over my crater completely oblivious.
Perhaps
I will disappear eventually.
Soon
my body only cigarette remnants on an ashtray;
unrecognisable to the masses that billowed me into grey smoke.
Used and discarded,
my soul moving on to a reality where it doesn’t hurt so much to be alive.
Finally at peace from the heaviness of this skin and all its contents.
What I would do to have the courage to end it all,
to not just
imagine my suicide.