Chapter 3

I've heard people say that those who commit suicide are cowards
I guess those people never put a gun to their head and tried to pull the trigger

It's only so long before pain transforms into something resembling courage
Something like exhaustion
The kind that requires only one kind of sleep

They tell kids two things about doing bad things
You know, to scare them

1) Santa. Santa's going to put you on the naughty list and you'll get gifted a lump of coal

2) Hell. That you'll go to Hell, and you'll burn forever
Probably on all the coal of naughty kids' stockings

You see, Santa's coal is the harbinger of hellfire
Now they finally tell you Santa doesn't exist
But conveniently forget to tell you the same thing about Hell

And that idiocy lingered as I was trying to decide how to end my life
Decisions, decisions

Pills and booze? Kind of elitist
But I thought maybe they might cuddle me into nothingness
I could run a nice bath
Maybe I'll get that euphoria they say drowning victims get right before their brains shut off
It's just the anguish before that mythical euphoria that I was worried about

Maybe slit my wrists? Nah
High rate of failure
Besides, that shit's for preachers' daughters looking for attention from daddy
Okay, I'm an insensitive asshole

I thought maybe jumping off a bridge
The adrenaline rush would take the edge off
That was a joke

They say the terror of a high altitude fall stops the heart and kills you far before you hit
How the fuck do they figure this shit out?
Is there some secret suicide research facility where they test people mid-suicide?

I can picture those ads for test subjects on the subway: Feeling suicidal?
Earn money to off yourself for science!

A gun? Messy, that. But quick

I was feeling too considerate to leave behind the Jackson Pollock
That Jackson Pollock didn't get a chance to make himself
But then again there's something beautiful in that ugliness

A statement
A whimper with an exclamation mark
Gun then!