I used to think about death
like a lullaby.
A quiet place.
A sweet release.
Not because I hated life,
but because my mind wouldn’t shut up.
The thoughts came
uninvited,
unfiltered,
grotesque.
Like static I couldn’t turn down
on a channel I never picked.
And somewhere in that noise,
death started to look like silence.
Not an ending.
Just a pause.
Just a break
from myself.
But every time I got close,
something inside me recoiled.
Like my soul knew better,
even if my mind didn’t.
The sweetness turned sour.
The comfort turned cold.
I didn’t want to die.
I just wanted the thoughts to stop.
I just wanted to breathe
without drowning
in a mind that hurt to live in.