I wish you to know this if I ever die from it
The call to death is just a call to death
I did not die because I am mad at you
I died because death has been calling me
I am sorry if it happened when I was angry with you
Maybe I’m not really sorry
But that is about my anger, not death’s dedicated line to me
She calls when I’m happy, asking if it would be nice that this is my last day
She calls when I’m sick and tired, asking if I’d like to break away
She calls when I’m bored, she stalks me and meanders in when she sees the chance
She’s called me all the time, since I was just a little one.
It can get overwhelming sometimes, to keep saying no
It’s worse when she calls me in the middle of me feeling something I hate to feel the most
She knows all my weaknesses, and she’s always there to shove me when I’m down
I know she’s not worth it
But it’s hard to see past something that is always around
I am vigilant and I am strong but I can’t be that all the time
I’m not selfish
I’m not attention seeking
It’s like catching an infection when you’re immune compromised
Medicines and routines and things can help until they don’t
You can try and try and try but sometimes it doesn’t work
I’m sorry if she got the better of me
And you are reading this after I die
But please just try to celebrate my time on earth.
