Five in the morning,
I lay in bed,
Contemplate, over-think it,
get close enough to scare myself
but resign myself
to being too much of a fucking coward
to go through with anything so melodramatic.
Because death is so permanent,
and any type of semi-permanence in my life
is too much to bear.
And I am certain that my mother wouldn’t notice
until my body began to rot and decompose,
or if she decided to take out her
Percocet induced moods out on me
but more importantly,
how dare I leave a mess for her to clean up?