Distraction

When my mind gets the time to sigh, I think about how I decided to kill myself.

Like, why is it that I chose to bleed myself to death and not just jump off my balcony? Why did I slit my wrist instead of my femoral vein?

What would've been less painful? Taking a deadly fall, with blurry lights in my peripheral vision and abundant air rushing through my lungs (would it have felt like breathing in three hundred breaths at once?), before my head gets smashed into a beefy mush? Or watching myself tick-tock away to death as my body gets drained clean of its blood?

Which is faster, which is more beautiful?

And I wonder that because I worry that one day, in this hell of mine, I'd have to repeat my death over and over again. I worry if the way I chose to kill myself wasn't the least painful.

And whenever I try to remember how dying felt like, I always fail.