Suicide Plea

My legs are frail, my hands tired, my whole body is heavy and bit by bit, in a slow pace my eyelids descend and the cold liquid envelops me. I smile, badly, but I do it, and I see what I don't usually see, what most of the times I'm afraid to even share with others. I see it, I see that you're not precisely alone out there, that sometimes you can place your head away from this consuming flesh-soil, and all the back-knife lies we happily agree. It is when you know you still have someone you could be with, maybe a mother, maybe a father, maybe a brother, or sister, maybe a different kind of brother and sister, not of blood, for they do not need to be it, but still someone who probably would bleed for you. Even someone whose flames strengthen yours, if you were lucky to find it by now.
But I'm tired, and I'm sick. Sick of this preselected human cohort system, as they keep digesting the weak meat, proclaiming themselves as the strong chain of command with their paper, and the lies, the lies that devour each of our days as their servants. We are theirs, and they are blind messengers, blind because they only see inverse, to their own egoistical void, the messiahs of self-destruct.
I'm glad I can take you with me, I'm glad that even though we are no more than feeble entities toiled to despair, a gruesome pest, I'm glad I could steal the world a laugh in your company, I'm glad light doesn't always shine in brighter places, but they can sometimes grow through the thickest blackness.
I need to rest now, like I said, my body is heavy and darkness seems rather comfortable tonight. How long I should rest I guess I can't really say, but if I am given only a request, if I ever wake up again, could I meet you again?

indarknessdwells

Author's Note

I highly regard a constructive opinion, or a share of what may make you feel.
Thank you for reading.