I'm Not Smart Enough To Kill Myself

There exists a man who understands it all. Who knows everything that I do not.

He thinks my hope is futile and that it would never change my outcome. He knows that my individuality is just a series of chemical events and products of cause and effect. He knows I never built any of this, he knows I never really had the choice to decide anything.

He's brilliant, and that's exactly the problem. He feels pain too, like me, but he won't feel it for long. He knows despair is just the performance of someone who wants to stick around, and as such he swiftly kills himself and his pain dissolves.

I'd hate to be like this man. I hope that I don't gain any more clarity. I don't wish to be intelligent like him. I want you to cut down my pillars and break my footing. I want you to keep me confused. I need to have something to question, I need to keep hoping.

I've not finished thinking yet because something keeps interrupting my thought. I am so lucky.

I'm not smart enough to kill myself, not yet.