Road Less Traveled.

I play with fire. The fire is death, and the temptation courses deep in the synapses of my brain.
There are numerous paths to travel on. The dirt road, it’s painful to travel. The rocks hit the car and chip away the paint. The highway is fast and direct, no traffic in sight. 70 mph plus and I’m traveling at 100. Then there’s the school zone roads. 25 miles per hour, it’s slow and I’m bound to take my time behind a bus.
The destination is the same, but the roads are irrelevant.

I am worried. The conclusion of my actions are mournful and irreversible.
What would he think of me? He is my survival kit, but I ran out of supplies to last me. I can’t leave without a goodbye. I scratch on paper, ending it with a kiss of red lipstick.

I wonder if it’s a more painful way to drift asleep?

I pop the cap off the pills. Inside they collide, I hear the doorway towards escape.
Each one slides swiftly down my throat.
Everything becomes hazy. My limbs begin to numb. I close my eyes, grasp his picture, and steadily float.

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