Slow-Motion Murder

Doctor hands me numbers, charts shaded red
says “you change now or this road ends hard, ” I nod
smile
toss the pamphlet on a pile with every other warning card
Cigarettes on the counter, grease in the bag
couch calling with that familiar sagging plea
I pick death in installments, one lazy day at a time

Feels easier than trying to be free.
Kid cousin texts, “come see my gig, front row
you promised
” little spark on the screen I once swore I would never let down
I stare at the message, feel the weight of the promise
then sink deeper in the chair, drown
Tell myself I will make the next one

type a half-assed excuse, blame traffic, blame work
throw in a sick emoji for flair
Turn the volume up on whatever noise fills the room
cut off the tiny prayer.
No knife, no gun, no balcony leap
Just choice after choice Stacked in a heap.

Call it slow-motion murder
I am killing myself and everyone hooked to me by not moving an inch
Every time I choose the couch over the call
I twist that lazy knife another inch
This is sloth with teeth, not cute, not sleepy
not some cartoon sinner in bed
This is “I watched the rope break and did nothing” Till it snapped instead.

Emergency contact line rings in another state while my phone face-down glows on the desk
Some friend in crisis, panic in text
needing one voice that knows their mess
I see the contact later in missed calls
a little icon of need I ignored in my haze
Message back “sorry, crashed hard” three days late
act surprised when they drift from my days.

I tell myself I am tired, burnt, used
like that excuses the wreckage I leave in my wake
Truth hits in the bathroom mirror where my eyes look back dead and awake
I am not just failing myself in this sludge of “maybe tomorrow” and blank stares
I am the silent reason half my circle stopped trusting anyone cares.

When my heart quits mid-scroll and they dig through my records for clues to the end of my tether
They will see a trail of chances I could have fixed If I had bothered To pull the lever.