Release

I'm sick.
And I'm sick.
And I'm sick.
And I'm sick.

And I don't know how to ask for help.
So I'll just sit here,
Silently.
Ever so silently.

Quietly dreaming of my release.
Taking too many pills,
Cutting too deep,
Cocking a gun.

Finger on the trigger,
"Squeeze, don't pull,"
Headshot.
Gun on the ground.
Fell on the ground.

Slow, silent death
in the middle of nowhere.
No more voices.
And I cease to exist.

But instead,
I'll just sit here.
Rocking on my heels,
Dreaming of my release.

And I can picture it.
All too vividly.