trying to die

Today I am trying to die.

Two strokes, are all I need, across my wrists, vermillion and silk, scrawled in haste, are proof I’ve paid my debts, ‘let me in, let me in’. Alas I lack artistic direction, and taste. This will not be a masterpiece.

Perhaps I should drown.

In the pool? Where children can gawk at my nakedness? Shield your eyes, avert them. Today you will start swimming lessons, so you will not sink on your own accord. What about the sea? Where I watched you wail at the waves until you were hoarse and bruised? Remember the gaslights that painted our shadows, stretching over tarmac like bandages? I recall the grains plastered on my back, falling off when I rolled over, ingesting your laughter whole, sweat and sand, teeth against skin, bare and blue. Fucking on the beach, that was your idea. You spat me out, eventually, grind and salt, brine and breeze. You’d always chose the sea. My head still churns and my nails are bent, toss a rock into the ocean, it sinks, lay your body to rest, it surfaces. Taunt me, sneer at me, scorn at my wits, but let me, let you, leave me. You asked me once how I’d like to die. I told you I was afraid of death, that I would live forever, by your side, of old age and liver spots. Now I shut my eyes while driving along the shore, too reckless, too rapid. I hold my breath underwater waiting for my lungs to swell, until my skin is raw. All I do is beg at the sea, ‘let me in, let me in.'