It's an Escape

Death. The word is pregnant with emotion. I stare at it. The shiny blade of the small stainless steel kitchen knife, I stare at it. A couple of slashes across my wrist Will permanently stain the drab carpet With the molten lava Pumping through my veins. Though, will it permanently remove my lonely soul From this world? I stare at it. The bottle of minty green mouthwash, I stare at it. It’s perched mockingly on the white bathroom counter. I calculate its ability to poison me if ingested. Salty torrents stream down my blotchy cheeks. My mother, She weeps. Every day after my grandfather’s death. I carry on with my chores In silence. Death. Everyone fears death. Everyone mourns. However, I do not. I’m not afraid Of death. It’s not a tragedy; It’s an escape. An escape from this corrupted world.