sunday morning and it's raining. i lie on my bed and watch lonely rain-drops dribble down the windowpane in a fight to see who reaches the end first. everything is beautiful and serene, and i am trying to keep my own tear-drops from making its way down my cheeks. why are they forming, i have no idea so i decide to go back to where nothing but imagination matters.

the rain doesn't stop, so does the train of thoughts that run 24/7. like a smudged painting, my feelings blend into one another, happiness into sadness, each feeling stamped with time, and into eternity. i stare at the clock which shows 1238 but the weather's too good to let any bad feelings pass. suppressing the drama, i stumble out of bed only to be greeted by a wall of sadness.

so i lie back in bed, defeated. then i wonder, if i were to ever commit suicide, it would be the painless way ever; an overdose of sleeping pills. patients die having accidentally taken a pill too many while trying to get to sleep.

there are so many ways to die and i wonder why i haven't yet.