When I kill myself, I already know how I'm gonna do it. A
bullet to the head. Just like that. I've seen how others do
it, and its not the way for me.
I'm not gonna take 40 sleeping pills and a gallon of vodka.
I'm not gonna cut my veins in a bath full of hot water while
the doors or pink floyd are playing in the background. No. I
don't wanna slowly fade away into non-existence. I do that
every night in my bed. No. I wanna blow my fucking brains
out. I want to feel the barrel of the gun against my temple,
cold and menacing, or perhaps the metallic taste of the gun
in my mouth, soon to be replaced with the metallic taste of
blood.
They say that in real life, there's no black and white. Only
gray. I fucking hate gray. Its all that gray in my head that
made me hate my life. All that insecurity, all those
uncertainties, all that fucking cowardliness. I wanna
destroy that gray. I wanna feel the bullet smashing through
my skull, digging through my gray matter, and coming out the
other side, splashing the inside of my head on the wall, a
mix of gray matter and blood, scattered on the wall like a
demented work of art. I wanna feel how the bullet in its
path is destroying my mind, deleting everything like files
on a hard drive. I wanna feel how everything leaves me, all
those emotions, thoughts, and memories, and all that shit
that makes us human. I wanna cross the only true line
between black and white, where there is no gray. The line
between life and death. I wanna feel myself turn from a
living breathing person, into organic waste. I wanna be
there when I die, and enjoy it. That will be my revenge upon
life.
I want my death to be everything my life wasn't: fast,
powerful, violent, satisfying.
Undeniable.
And black, not gray.