Suicide Code
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The core of my own home collapsed long before I added to the fires that have shaken and torn the walls that I built to protect me. Night by night, fumes continue to steal every particle of oxygen from my lungs, engulfing my blood cells as my veins turn black with vengeance. My mind races with memories I want to erase and yet they prick my nerves and the spasms shoot through my torso and down into the sides of my arm, sharply and uncontrollably. I feel them in my heart sometimes, the devilish worms clogging my arteries as it makes its way through just like when five-year-old's would slide through virus-filled tubes at the McDonald's outdoor playhouses. I fight this suffocation with every ounce of love I have left for myself, but it drains the life out of me. I pace around in my head, wanting people to believe me until an empty shot glass of my dignity remained. Sick out of my mind, loud ticking sounds echo in the tiny corridors of my brain, talking to each other in Morse code, knowing full well I would not be able to understand. I blink a couple of times as a way to cope with my madness. Surely someone had to have noticed, but I do not care. Maybe I do.
