I walk into the bathroom with pills. I go into the stall. I
take off all my clothes. I shoot myself (it’s a gun, not pills) because the
crimson blood contrasting with my lily-white skin is beautiful. I am naked, and
I keep my face intact. I want people to look at me. I want to be carried out
and people will watch and be disgusted but at the same time they will be
fascinated and cannot look away. When I do it I have a knife, not a gun. I
stare at my naked form in the mirror. I raise my quivering hand and violently
slash my pale, apple-white throat. The blood starts to spill and my eyes grow
wide with shock. I might have had a second thought but it is so fleeting I do
not recognize it as doubt. My eyes glaze as I fall to the floor.
Time
Heals All Things
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