Suicide: A piece of nothing.

Suicide is the unlocked door into the end. It’s easy. Usually you need an RSVP to enter, but with suicide you are free to come and never go. It’s why to me it is a fantasy. Because I would love to go and see how it is behind that door. I would love to go and leave this world behind, but I never do. Not me. Not now. I’ve done nothing with my life. Nothing. I need to write a book. I need to fall in love. I need to have a sex life. To move the fuck out. To finish college. Go to France. Fuck in France. See the Mona Lisa. See a Frida. See a Warhol. See the world. See a man. Fuck a musician. Write a book. Go to Italy. Go to Rome, Venice, and Verona. Visit Juliet. Meet a celebrity. Befriend a celebrity. Fuck a celebrity. Write a book. Write a book. Write a book. So much to do, and for now I control the time. That’s suicide. A way of control, and an easy escape from what you can’t.