Suicide as a promise to myself for when I fail.

I promise it to myself,
as if it were something shiny and new to be had,
a gift to myself that I have saved up for.
Just as others save themselves for a new car
or a cake on their diet cheat day
or a dinner date with a loved one.
I have saved myself for this.

I will drive that car straight off a bridge
and bake poison into the cake
and I will make a date with the devil.
This is the only way

Years spent wishing I were someone else.
In another life
maybe I could have been happy.
I wish that the monsters would stay under the bed for once
I wish that I could have one last good day.

I can’t be one whole person.
I am fragments of many
and the pieces of the puzzle don’t fit together to make a real picture.
I am a fake girl,
from the smile down to the words
and I am sure if you cut me open
the stuffing would pour out at the seams.

Back to the promise I made to myself.
Is it selfish to think that if I can’t have what I want
then what is the sense of wanting anything at all?

If the next words out of your mouth aren’t a real promise
I hope you keep it shut forever.



Published by

Shimmer & Disappear

22 • Manchester I write free verse poetry & short stories. I have a Bachelor's degree in English & Creative Writing. I mainly write about my personal struggles with Depression and BPD. My short stories are usually crime/horror/thriller.

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