On my way home today I drove over the same bridge I have a hundred times, and I fantasized about pulling over, walking to the barrier, and seeing my reflection in the ice.
I would appear as small and insignificant as I felt.
I thought about bringing myself up over the barrier that divided the bridge from a fall in attempt to rescue the other me trapped under the ice.
In my fall I would feel so light, so warm, I would have no regrets, no fear and above all things
I would be alone.
I see the contrast and flaws in my own design. I close my eyes and make imagery in my head. The doors open and red flood the screen. And when I knock I know I’ll be denied not once but three times.
When I drip will you drink my blood? Cuts never bandaged with much.
Byron: When you’re alive, the possibility that it all might be finite is enough to lighten the mood sometimes. But when you’re dead and you realize that it’s infinite, the boredom becomes intolerable.
Everything went black.
I opened my eyes again to sirens, I found myself and the inside of my car soaked in my own blood
and I smiled.