It’s like this.

The day one of it is heavy
with the love of studying
for a hanging tree to hide
in and it is a for sure
not going further than for
a coffee without getting winded
with anxiety and brows beaten with sweat
and then it is escaped,
by a margin,
the ability to sleep is
what saves you on day one
from doing anything rash
that can’t be undone.

Day two is pretty much more
of the same, with new added memories
from the last time you committed suicide
to the first time you punched something.

Day three is pretty much all about the crying,
and more of the same tree hunting,
rope is now even considered.

There are a few interesting moments
where you try to climb out of the cave
and you get all the way out in the middle
of your day only to have it come crashing,
some sudden hunger pang misread by the mind
as more come down gut rot and now the trees again,

and the rope, whether it would make that movie noise
and whether your mother will die from it,
and how hard it will be for everyone to get off work
and come see you off and whether everyone will hate you,
how they’ll tell those who haven’t yet heard, in significant phrases.

How they will find the body, discover it.
As though you were just a lost island until now.
People say it is selfish but you spend an awful lot of time
thinking of how others will cope, in the throes of its ride.

After that it just sits for a long while on your stomach and back.
You will ponder whether any little mundane act, cutting nails, making food,
is even worth it if you aren’t going to live it through.
Why bother smiling at that girl. It has no bearing on your death march.
Who cares if the coffee has anything in it, just drink it!
You’ll be fucking dead before it rots your guts you cowardly little whelp.

A week will go by hiding in old sitcoms from your youth, and you’ll sink
deep into a hell that awaits the living dead, those who tried but couldn’t get out.

You’ll have to make your way up off the dirt floor and back in a chair and
you can always have flu or worse to cover the tracks but you yourself
you begin to notice the difference in each returnee self. It’s like a copy, of a

It’s like this.

And after awhile you lose the ability to even lie to yourself about changing.

It’s like this.

And that’s that.