#3 death

i think about death alot, not in some gruesome way and not even in a poetic way. just as this quiet and still place where i dont have to try anymore. where im not heavy and the air isnt sharp. i crave it alot. but the world wont give it to me. instead, i get these endless days of "almost". almost okay, almost numb, almost forgetting

its so strange how much space a person can take up while feeling entirely hollow. im typing into this digital void and all i can think about is how i dont want to exist anymore. not in a melancholic way, its just a fact. like saying the sky is blue. a stupid relentless truth i never agreed to

and when i tell people this they ask me, well how can i help you? and all i want, literally all i want is a cigarette. not for the nicotine, but for the way it would hit the spot. the sting in my throat, the way it burns between my fingers and disappears, like it knows how to let go better than i ever could. but no one even says "hey you look like you need a cigarette" anymore, because no one thinks about the small things. they think about saving you, about pulling you out of the darkness, about fixing you. but sometimes all you really need is something small, something tangible. a cigarette, a breath, one moment where your weight feels bearable. no one ever sees it, they'll notice if you scream, if you disappear, but the quiet asks. the cigarettes, the small escapes, they never cross their minds. no one knows how badly i want to stop feeling alive without actually having to die