DEATH, take me

Ever been in a place where you have nothing to say, but a lot to tell. Where all you feel is empty, but inside, you are on the verge of puking out all the crap that you hold inside. Where your mind screams, “Death, take me.”

What do you do then?

Do you walk and hope that it will go down like the extra fat on your tummy?

Or do you run, for it to come off like the sweat?

 

Ever did you try hiding, where it won’t be able to see you?

Or perhaps jumping down from the 14th floor?

 

Do you ever talk it out?

Or sing it, like all those sad and depressing songs, which tend to suck out all the energy inside you?

 

Throw it off, like you throw a pebble in a steady lake, disturbing its peace and then drowning it to death?

Or simply standing in a thunderstorm, and let the current burn it down to ashes?

 

Did you ever let it flow like the rain that washes the dirt off?

Or standing under a great wave, which would choke it?

 

Ever tried putting it on flame, just like putting your hand on it, and then to smell the burning skin?

Or at ease, cutting all the veins where no one can see and holding it under water so it won’t ever stop flowing?

 

To let the boiling oil enter it, like it would enter your ear and burn down your skull?

Or like putting a fork in your eye and pulling it off?

 

What about killing it off like a poison would do?

Or suffocating it, just like a plastic wrap over the head will?

 

Tried silencing it, like pulling your tongue off by fixing it to an automated pulley?

Or making it fall on a blade, like you jumping on it?

 

Placing it in front of a gun, like the intestine, that would pop out if it were you?

Or drowning it to death, like an anchor does attached to your body?

 

Tried sitting it in a roller coaster and making it jump on the cement down, from the highest point?

Or getting it sucked into a machine, like your face in a crusher?

 

If no, then go ahead.

But if yes, and you could not do it, then stop right there. This isn’t done for you. There is this hope inside you that wants you to fight. You still are the same person who once was the best. You are not done. Much life is still left inside you. The semicolon is not a full stop. Stop blaming and criticizing yourself. You are still a warrior. A fighter. A person who can achieve everything you want. And I believe in you, just like you do!

 

( If this gave you the feeling of I being suicidal, then go out and help those who actually are. For their life is as precious as anyone else.)

 

©The Honest FablerSarvesh Antapurkar

©Image Source — Google Images

 

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