I woke up one morning,
And I forgot I was dead.
The clock on the wall insisted it was midday,
The sun coming through the window seemed to agree.
The date on the calendar insisted today was real,
That yesterday and tomorrow were concepts I had to internalize.
I woke up one morning, 
And I forgot I was dead.
 

My feet touched the cold, hard, floor
And my chest ached as it took in it's first breath of air
The pills stood on the bedsidetable
My bedside table
With a glass of warm water beside them,
Reminding me of impending death
Reminding me of a life I wasn't really living

The white nightgown seemed to taunt me
What of me was made of purity?
I was dead.
What of me was made of hope?
I was dead.
What of me was made of aspirations?
I was dead.
White had nothing to do with me.

The blue walls seemed to make fun of me,
Laugh at the forgotten notion that I was dead.
Taunting my anxiety.
Fueling my depression.
Igniting my suicidal thoughts.
 

I woke up one morning,
And I forgot I was dead.

So I felt.
I felt like I had never felt before.
And my chest was about to implode with such notions of self-doubt and never-ending universe
My mind, so wide and powerful
Capable of understanding beyond limits
My heart, thin and fragile
Incapable of living without loving

I woke up one morning,
And I forgot I was dead.
 

So, I drank the meds on my bedside table
Put my feet back on the bed
And went back to sleep.

The living musn't mourn the dead.
I musn't mourn myself.

I went to sleep one morning,
Knowing, I was dead.