The Number 7

7. The number of god, of creation and fables.
The number that wasn't enough to end my life.
I kept waiting for some sign, some side-effect. none.
I feel that even if I swallowed all the pills in our cabinet, my life would be incapable of ending.

Into the stars I looked in the darkness of childhood and promised that if it were to continue,
5th grade would be the end. I would ensure it. Ironically enough, that year and the next were the only ones
that I was not depressed.
November. Hand shaking. 3, glistening white orbs. Into the mouth. Time for school.
I would finish later. I would do it this time. I never felt so damn sure.
Then a story slips, god-words
from an aged human mouth. The butterfly, the soul, my symbol. meaning.
I feel the meaning of my existence, and the universe is screaming for me to continue.
"This is not where you die" the voice whispers.
"this is not where I die" I repeat. trying to believe.