Contemplating Joy

I wish I could just sit here and do nothing. Nothing until I fade away.
Stillness and quiet until my skin dehydrates and my organs shut down.

Peace and lonliness in the last minutes as my lungs exhale their painful finale of oxygen.

Emptiness and dark as the last of my hungry synapses quit on me.
But I can't. I get too damn bored.

I wish I could push myself to jump from a high rise and await the cement below.

Fear and procrastination right before I choose to never look back.
Shock and immenent regret in the moments right after I leap.

A painful, bone shattering, gravity fueled demise and a heavy thud.

But I can't. I'm too afraid of pain.

I wish I could point a gun at my head and pull the loaded trigger.

Terror and heartache as my finger pulls and twists it's tiny muscles.

Blood and brainmatter flying out the back of my skull as my nervous system tries to reboot.

A stain and a police line will be the only thing I've ever caused that matters.

But I can't. I'm too afraid of waking up.

I wish I could be happy, that I never contemplate suicide again.

That I never put my brain and all the individual living cells in my body through hell every day.

Serotonin and THC making up the majority of my mood.

But I can't-
I don't live in a fairytale.
And, besides...

We've all got to die, someday…