What’s the point of suicide
when I feel already dead inside?

Too long past due
pulling breath’s last plug
last gasp
last primal scream
for and against capital colonizing campaigns
but acted out in dizzying silent mime,
rumored to be a scary thing
this last big surrendering event
before unconsciousness
of changing time
marching inevitably forward
and backward,
out
and back in
until no more back
or in.

But what frightens this fading identity most,
No one will know a difference,
notice I’m different,
least of all
decaying from within
me.

Already unconscious
subconscious,
merely skirting conscious life
precedes flirting with absence of awareness,
burning bridges
pulling life plugs
turning out my lights
already too dark to hear
fear memories
too alarming to feel
images
too disarming to care for power
for light

Too defining
future past experience
enlightening
too long
refining
past due
healing
organic capital investments
ourselves
too long overdue.