You no longer need to kill me, because I did it for you.

When I wrote this I died.

- Oh, do not be too worried

For when I say died

What I really mean is my elementary school teacher

Never taught me the proper use of hyperbole

When I wrote this I fell apart

- But do not waste your sorrow on me

For when I say I’m falling apart

What I really mean is the pencil shavings of my heart

Fell into stanzas, placing my punctuation in the weirdest of places

Fucking up my basic understanding of American Grammar

For instance

When I write my name

A question mark appears

As if I do not know; who I am

As if I am calling out to some Greater darkness

Looking for some lost child who wandered off the path

At some mediocre, cringe-worthy school field trip

Where girls were felt up for the first time

And guys were making fart noises! into the palms of their hand

- Scratch that, I mean where girls were making fart noises! into the palms of their

hands, but it was this huge secret that no one wanted to talk about.

For instance

When I write the word life.

This half-hearted period appears

As if something is supposed to end

But the huge secret is that my heart is too cowardly

To fill in the entire period

So rather than end, the word Life. kind of just fumbles

Into the middle of a sentence; with no real emphasis

Not stopping, but still stalling:

- Scratch that, my heart is not so much cowardly as it is lazy and surprisingly enough,

living is so much easier than dying.

When I wrote this my stomach disappeared

- Oh, but I am not hungry, so please do not offer me a sandwhich

For when I say my stomach disappeared

What I really mean is my stomach turned into a giant pebble

And some jank ass! bird named anxiety took it in its mouth

And flew off with it to never never land! to reside with my fleeting childhood

When I wrote this I let my hair down

- But please do not analyze that as a liberation. of the American woman

For when I say I let my hair down

What I really mean is this girl - from my fleeting childhood - told me it looked pretty

Then took advantage of my young heart and innocent desire for a friend

Even if that “friend” only wanted me for a game of “doctor”

For instance

When I wear my hair up for too long

I start to cry and yell my (questionable identity) into the warm side of the pillow

Because when my hair is up

The only thing I can feel is a - warm touch -

And the word pretty! flicking against my skull

Like a hair tie made of adamantium

- Scratch that, I think it’s just that overwhelming feeling you get when the trauma

comes back and tries to kill you again because the first time wasn’t enough fun.

For instance

When I coughed up those 37 aspirins

My brain got a little funky!

And my language fell apart

So my depression and I could not laugh properly

Therefore the only real solution is to attempt it again and again

Until my depression can muster a hearty laugh without vomiting into the bathroom drain

Because that would make the clean up easier for everyone and we all love a good laugh

- Scratch that, laughter is not always the best medicine, for when involved with

depression it kind of crosses that line and becomes more of a poison.

When I wrote this I smiled

- But don’t worry I’m not shredding you with sarcasm this time

For when I say I smiled

What I really mean is I !actually! smiled

Because sometimes my cynical nature can be a bit funny

And I like to poke fun at my shitty life

Because it makes it kind of bearable

When I wrote this I lived

- Oh, you can clap now, or snap because this is a poem and I’m trying to pretend

you’re not incredibly uncultured

For when I say I lived

What I really mean is I deserve a snap-apalooza

Because I jumped off a cliff - called insanity - and into a stanza

Falling into a place where my mind finally had some sense of breathing again

A place where my melancholy heart didn’t make it through the cataclysm of aliveness

Because

when I wrote this

I died.