i imagine things. they’re not real. i imagined dying once. i took a knife and drove it into my side and i fell to floor and writhed in pain. i must’ve been there for hours, absolute in my belief that i was dying. i looked at the blood on my hands, brought those fingers up to my face. the salty metallic taste was in my mouth. i could feel my breaths becoming shallower, less frequent. and then it was morning and i wasn’t dying. i wasn’t dead. there was no blood. no shallow breaths. no unimaginable pain. nothing but me, lying on my kitchen floor wondering who the hell i was.
