You have come to my funeral. The sky looks beautiful. It is having ripples. The clouds vomitted blue-green algae on it last night when they saw me dying.

Shhh! Don't tell this to anyone. It is a secret that spilled out from my head along with blood, when I was drilling a hole in it with Murphy's Law to check whether the hot steal rod is a good conductor of thoughts or not. Yes, it is.

My body was a fallow land and my thoughts acted as a plough to till it yesterday.

Have you ever felt the sensation of thousands of ants crawling all over your body? I am having a good time eating them here.
Crackle..Crackle.. I am missing my right leg. I chopped it off into 6 small pieces to check whether my platelets form clots of desolation or not, also the wickedness of my hands which once used to accumulate poems, and acted as band-aids to the famine of my peace.

They say if you have a V on your palm, you are heartless. I didn't have. So I took a blade and painted birds with red on my hands. Then I stood on them to stick my V(s) properly to my palms. I killed the birds too. Nobody organized a funeral for them, so I burnt my hands myself.

My favourite colour was white. The parasite of my addiction to white poked a finger inside my eye and digged deeper and deeper till the black of my eyeball submerged in the white of my skull. No more white was left.
The only part of my body I am left with is my bones. They are white too. I love them. But I hate my soul. It is still haunting me.

Okay you need not to get angry. But my dear soul, I abhor you with all my newly made V-shaped hearts.

But then, why do you love me like my wounds? Why are you consuming me each day, calling it love, though we both know it only gives me the taste of oleander on my tongue. You used to lovingly choke me everyday, just to abandon me before the moment I stretched my arms out to hug death. 

So yesterday, I finally decided to part ways with you. I devastated the weeds in my garden, only to realize there were no flowers. I am a barren land now.

These people are foolish. They call it a suicide but they don't know I didn't do suicide, I murdered my soul, only to realize I killed myself.