this is where you're going to die.

it's worthy of the honor you think while staring down at the wet drop below your feet. the bottom of the ocean can't be seen through the thick lens of murky water and maybe that's a good thing, maybe you'd be too tempted to back out again if you could make up an excuse about the beach being too shallow and you've already backed out of so many attempts that you've used up all your chances and this time it has to be the last one for sure.

usually when you stand here in the place where you're going to die your thoughts are crowded with many faces. some are crying some are laughing some are blank & some are twisted in uncertainty, but they're all reacting to the news of your suicide. drowned they said drowned right by the docks in front of Bullworth Town and not a single person noticed or tried to stop him, said they'd seen him standing there several times before staring down at the water but assumed he was just getting some air. didn't notice.
didn't try to stop him.

this is where you're going to die you've decided after many long hours of restless nights, legs jiggling, hands fidgeting, all the chaotic spurs of manic energy buzzing like neon lights around your chemically imbalanced brain, your entire personality compressed into plastic jars and pills and stickers exhibiting the evil little word, "ADD". all the nights Petey couldn't sleep because of your endless talking and rattling and shaking and humming and stimming, & you think with a jaundiced snicker of all the rest he'd be able to catch up on when the lullaby of dead silence carries him off to sleep.

some are bound to celebrate your death and some will be a little sad you concur but since when did you give a shit about them anyways, you wanted their fear never their pity.

but now the view below your blank gaze swims because you're thinking about the look on his face.

this is where you're going to die and maybe he'll be relieved that you're finally gone and that thought settles in your stomach like a cold fog knowing that it could and probably would happen even though you've never cared about him (after all he never could have cared about you as you knew for a fact by now), but in spite of your carefully crafted insouciant surface of course you can't delight in thinking that someone would actually ENJOY it if you died.

then again you suppose it's the best favor you could ever do for him since you never once tried to make him happy (if you did it never went unpunished) and you'd always done your best to make his life torture (he didn't try to stop you any more) and you never failed to treat him like the disposable piece of shit you convinced him he was (until you finally realize that he'd actually believed it on his own all along).

so your mind obstinately focuses on the image of Petey taking the news with relief because it's better than accepting the fact that you know he won't – god, you know he won't.

you deserve this fate, you know you deserve it and of course it doesn't bother you at all, it just makes you anticipate the weightless sensation of sinking deep into the sand, lungs heavy with water & eyes wide open to give them a scare when they heave your bloated corpse onto the shore.

you find that you're surprised to feel the lick of a tear falling down your pallid face unchecked, unexpected.