the dead don't breathe.
the dead don't breathe. mentalillnesses stories

creeps_peeps Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   2 years ago
a short poem based on my mental illnesses

By: creeps_peeps

the dead don't breathe.

by creeps_peeps

the dead don’t breathe: “Let’s talk about the future!”

I won’t be here tomorrow.

“We’ll work this out next week.”

I won’t be here tomorrow.

“Have a good weekend.”

I won’t be here tomorrow.


I won’t be here tomorrow.

I won’t be here. I’ll be somewhere else.

But, nobody knows where, since the dead don’t breathe.

I’ll put the noose around my neck.

I’ll drop to my knees.

The air will fail to reach my lungs.

I’ll swallow the handful of pills.

My vision will go weird.

I’d fall and have seizures.

I’ll drag the knife vertically across my wrist.

I’ll start to feel tired.

I’d sink to the bottom of the sea.

I’ll feel the barrel against my skin.

My finger will be on the trigger.

One split second left…

Maybe I’ll have one split second left, sink to the bottom of the sea, fall and have seizures, or choose… none of the above.

But, my mind’s been made up. I’m choosing one of those poems to read out loud… tonight. Nobody will see the signs.

Nobody will know that the girl they saw in the school hallways will be dead in just a few hours.

Nobody will know… the aftermath. Nor will I because…

… the dead don’t breathe.

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