Life, By Default

Life, by Default

My nights, as of late, have consisted of drinking a bottle of Nyquil and listening to a scratched Nirvana CD. I lie here in this empty apartment, remembering what was, dwelling on what is, and not seeing what could be. For me, there is no "tomorrow". There is simply a string of nows that blur together over time, my life is a cancelled sitcom that refuses to give up and stubbornly survives on reruns that everyone is sick of sitting through. I cant afford cable. Im tired of watching.
Its time to turn off the t.v.
I emptied out my pockets last night, I set everything on the ledge above my bed. I didnt replace the items this morning, I wanted to go without them and see if it was possible to survive a day in my world without a single one of the material posesions I cling to for support. My wallet contained $11.50, the scribbled number of a girl I never called, 3 receipts, an expired drivers license, and a bud of marijuana wrapped in a torn plastic bag. Various coins and knotted wads of dryer lint filled the other pockets.
None of these things were vital to my sub-existent state.
Everything remains there, just above my head and below the dark window, save for the pot. The smoke hangs in the air still, my coke-can bong is lying on the ground at my feet and im flicking my Zippo open and shut in the night. Flame, shadow, flame, shadow, flame, shadow....It clicks and does not ignite, out of fuel and I have nothing to refill it with. I place the lighter on the windowsill on top of the fake leather wallet, with the bright flame still dancing before my eyes.
I sing along with Kurt Cobain and I know what he felt as he sang, I know why he is no longer alive to sing his songs.
He sang and everyone heard him, everyone enjoyed hearing him, and noone listened to what he had to say.
I want to kill myself.
I look around.
I shrug.
I think about how funny this is, that I want to kill myself but I dont have a way to accomplish it.
I live in a second story apartment. The fall wouldn kill me, and I dont have the money for an emergency room visit.
I dont have any rope, or belts, or sturdy cloth with which to hang myself. With my luck I would end up standing in a doorway, tethered to the door frame.
No blades to cut with.
No pills to overdose on.
Human life is so fragile yet I cant break through.
I may have to live by default.
I laugh and the sound of my own voice is startling in the apartment.
"I swear I dont have a gun, No I dont have a gun..."
"Neither do I, Kurt. Neither do I."
I continue laughing, unable to stop.
Its the first time in weeks that I've laughed aloud, and the subject of my amusement is the lack of available means with which to end my life.