day zero.

it was an odd quiet night.

funny.

because sunday nights are usually filled with chatter,

the hum of family, clinking plates, footsteps, and laughter.

but where did all the noise go?

sigh was heard,

way too many times.

was it disapointment?

or was it relief?

that it didn't work.

never really understood those people in movies,

where they lean their back on the bathroom wall and just slides down,

knees pulled in, head buried.

how fake, how dramatic.

until i slid too,

until wrath took over,

until the weight clawed down, 

until i was blinded by everything but one thought.

didn't even realize there were this much tools in the room,

ordinary things. harmless things.

everyday tools that never seems so dark now.

functional tools to help her open packages,

safe tools to tighten some screws,

but that night, 

they weren't tools anymore. 

they were exits.

so why did mum take them all away now?

even my meds?

her child apologised profusely,

for breaking her heart. 

her wrinkled hands that once held spoons to my lips when i was too small to eat,

now trembles.

softly, in a way she didn't want her dying child to see.

"let me take it", she whispered.

"all of it.

the pain you can't say out loud,

the pain you try to kill.

give it to me.

let me carry it,

so you'll never choose to leave me."

day 0. 

attempt survived.

but death still lingers in the room.

sitting in the corner.

waiting.

watching.