I can't see anymore.

Darkness has leaked under me and let me convulse. I am inferior to its promises, and everything that once leaned heavily on my chest is light.

Momentarily. Because death isn't pretty, it's ugly and violent. What I did wasn't glorious, though easily romanticised. It was thoughtless and cruel, and it's in my lingering moments when I realise:

I don't want this.
I don't want this.
Everything hurts.
I don't want thi-
I don't want -
I don't want anything.
I don't -
I regret -
I -

I'm nonexistent.