bleach

my latest preferred method of hypothetical suicide is swallowing a bottle of bleach. bleach must really burn when it goes down your stomach. it must really fucking hurt. it probably boils down your esophagus, not pussy weak shit like pain pills and not sudden and virtually painless like a bullet to the soft pink brains, no, it must hurt like hell and sting full of the realization of itself, it must make your eyes water, not that anyone would notice or really be able to tell because I imagine that by the time you swallow a bottle of bleach you're crying, anyway. i've tasted bleach before, though, as part of some sick science experiment, and it doesn't taste how you would think, all slippery and chemical. it's salty, saltier than ocean water and not dirty like ocean water, either, but bright, very bright, the way fresh, super concentrated blood must taste. I've had bleach gurgle in my stomach, just a little bleach, mixed with milk, mind you, and it was achingly painful. what would a stomach full of bleach feel like? would it churn so hard that the milk in your stomach would turn to butter? would it burn so bright that your whole body would feel lit up, electric, alive for one last time? and what if you did feel alive for one last time, after swallowing all that bleach? would they be able to save you, that is, if you wanted to be saved, after feeling lit up and whole again, lying there on the floor, all burnt up on the inside and full of bleach – I watched a documentary once about a man who made himself a kitchen cleaner cocktail, swallowed it heartily, and survived. he was praying mantis skinny, stick bug skinny, even though he ate a full meal every few hours, and you could see the food move down the tube in his chest, the pipe in his stomach, you could see it go right through him. is that would life be like after, if life can possibly exist after swallowing a bottle of bleach? what could possibly make someone desolate enough to swallow a bottle of bleach want to live such a terrifying existence after? surely they had no want for any sort of existence before, but I suppose that all changes when the chemicals hit and everything suddenly becomes slow and fast at once and you realize that this is real. and the ambulance lights are bright and you're thinking “oh god, please don't let these red flashing lights be the last thing I see, please don't let these screeching sirens be the last thing I hear, please don't let this acrid bleach be the last thing I taste, please don't let this overwhelming regret be the last thing I feel.” and whoever it is that loves you the most is probably standing over you, screaming, why, why, why, but you can't see their mouth move anymore. the room is getting dizzy and you're wishing you would have mopped the floors more, scrubbed the counters harder, used up that damned bleach before it used you.