Something vague
2002-08-29 || 4:04 p.m.

Someone said I should write about what I want to write about. So here goes.

I want to walk upstairs to my bedroom. I will close the door and open one of the drawers under my bed. It used to be the one for tea towels and flannels and it still does have some tea towels and flannels in but it has other stuff too. I shall take a razor from the packet that I put there last Thursday. Then I shall sit down. I shall draw the blade vertically down my arteries because I know there is no chance of me being patched up I will have fucked with myself too much for that. I shall then sit back and watch the blood. Some will seep into the green sheet that I changed last night and begin to drip down onto the carpet. Some will spurt upwards and cover the bare plaster walls where I have no wall paper because I can't afford it and I can't wallpaper anyway. Some will drip down onto Earlodd the egg cosy that Elizabeth Skinner knitted for me when I was 11 years old. It was always too big to be an egg cosy but it fits very cosily on the knob of my bed head. Some will drip down over Zeppy my toy dog who was given to me by my aunt who was subsequently killed by her boyfriend. Must run in the family! It will soak into the pink necklace he is wearing that I knitted for him when I was 8 and ill with some bug in bed. Some will cover the notebook by the bed on the floor. The silly one that I keep stuff in that isn't worth keeping. The rest will soak into my pillows and cover my clothes. As the blood drains out I will begin to die. I will find, to my relief, that I don't drift towards a golden light in the sky. No tunnel to heaven for me. As the blood drains out so the darkness descends.

Until eventually there is nothing but darkness at all.