vivian

all throughout my life, i have yearned for death. the comforting embrace of rigor mortis as the cold seeps through my limbs.

i crave to know what a bullet through the brain feels like. the cold air tickling the sensitive, damaged tissues inside. the warm blood pouring down my face.

in a perfect world, i would have a gunshot wound above my right eyebrow. crimson, gushing and glistening in all of her glory.

no longer would i need to worry about making myself smaller for other people's comfort. no longer would i need to worry about putting on an act every time i leave the house.

finally, for once, i can just suffer and struggle without feeling guilty for it.