My last words.
I made a choice to let it all kill me.
“ Find what you love and let it kill you”
-Charles Bukowski
Dear Charles Bukowski,
I have a series of questions,
but I guess you can't answer them
so I'll throw it at everyone else.
A couple of my questions would begin with a what if.
What if the things you love
are already trying to kill me?
should I still let it continue?
Doesn't that already align with what you said?
What if I'm not even sure of what I love?
What if I'm clinging to things
that don't really want me back
just because they seem familiar?
What if I love something just enough
for it destroy me,
but not enough to survive it?
What if what I love drags me away from everything else?
what if it isolates me?
Consumes me?
What if it drains me
of the little life I still move with?
I've thought about leaving.
About detaching.
About Letting go.
About choosing something 'better' or what get people that aren't me think I should want.
But I never really leave
Not fully.
I could take a break.
Mini goodbyes
Five minute pauses to breathe or cry.
All because in real time,
I don't think I want to be saved.
Not from this.
Not anymore.
Because feeling something,
even if it's killing me
still feels better than feeling nothing
So even in my confusion,
Even in my silence,
Even I'm my slow Unraveling,
I'll let it kill me.
Watch me die.
Slowly.
Maybe this is a suicide letter after all.
Not the kind with pills and blood, just to admit the truth out loud.
It just makes more sense with this song