How it feels to try and hang yourself on a doorknob out of boredom on a Sunday inside your closet which is opposite to the windows where the light bouncing from the lawn hits, so you see white light crawling on your hands and illuminating the edges of the boxes, and you decide to count how many minutes of this you can take (it was seven), so you count (one mississippi, two mississipi, three mississipi), and you think about counting sheep, but you know that the counting sheep method was not about literally counting the creatures but about taxonomy and types, but unfortunately you don't know the glorious variations of the wooly species, nor are you upset about the fact, for you are ignorant of the natural world, and maybe that's what led to this, but you know you're fried from the caffeine you keep forcing into your empty stomach, and you really don't know why you do that because it makes you anxious, yet it keeps you stationary, and there was that one time you ran and ran because your head wanted you to run (it was surprised; it was quiet after), but it's hot out, and there are people out, so currently you are inside your pleasantly chilly closet, and, approaching the sixth minute, you notice that the skin of your face feels like your arm when you lay on it to sleep, and you keep doing that; when you sleep, the moonlight hits your face, so you drape your arm between the crook in your brow and the point of your nose, and when you wake up, you try to move it, but it's gone, and you pluck it off with your alert arm (usually the left) and stare until it comes to its senses, so you can use it to draw or write or whatever it is you do that never seems to make an impression on anyone, and now comes the thought about suicide notes; you didn't write one, and you never have written one because scheduled text messages don't count, but you know youre going to walk out of the closet just fine -- it's a piece of performance art all for yourself, and that's been seven minutes:

The back of your throat feels cold and open when you get out.  You feel fine.


Created 8 June 2025
Last updated 8 June 2025