The day I take my own life,
The day I end it all,
Will be the day I can't take it anymore.
When peace stops being a dream,
And starts calling my name.
I'll reach for the grim reaper's hand,
And leave it all behind.
Call it selfish if you will—
But for once, I'll be selfish.
For once, I'll choose me.
Think of it as my soul,
Finally at rest.
No more torment.
No more storms.
Just silence. Just peace.
I've lived enough in so little time.
I've felt too much.
I don't want to know what the future holds—
Because from here,
It looks like the same old pain.
The same shadows of depression.
The same chaos of BPD.
And I'm tired.
Tired of fighting battles I never asked for.
Tired of trying to survive
When all I want is to stop.
All I want is to rest.
All I want is peace.
I've lost interest in everything—
Almost everything.
Nothing makes me feel alive anymore.
Not really.
Not even the fleeting highs my disorder offers,
Because even that happiness is a lie.
A cruel illusion,
Gone before I can even hold it.
So maybe, when I'm gone,
I'll finally be happy.
Finally free.
Finally at peace.
Until then,
This is my truth,
Spoken like a final breath.