You stare at your pale reflection in the mirror.

It’s funny how it all can disappear. Happiness comes and goes like the moon and sometimes when you close your eyes, you can picture it all going away. But only for that moment.

That very precious moment.

I dream about, how it's going to end,
Approaching me quickly,
Leaving a life of fear…

Poof.

With one fell swoop, you can make it or take it.

Swish.

You laugh bitterly to yourself. Even in desperation, you manage to refer to your so-called love of basketball. You guess some things don’t change.

Your eyes were sunken and hollow; your face gaunt and long as if some unknown cancer had been attacking you and you had yet to figure it out. Or at least, you wish there was.

You can still hear their voices in my head.

Shoot for the stars, Justin.

Make them love you, Justin.

Play the game, Justin. 

Forget to live, Justin. 

I dream about, how it's going to end,
Approaching me quickly,
Leaving a life of fear,
I only want my mind to be clear.

For once, you’d like to win for a change. You’d like to be selfish.

Of course, that would be impossible.

American’s golden boy, lives for the crowd and nobody else.

The front man of Nsync loves his band mates, his “girlfriend”, and his mother, yet he doesn’t love himself. 

Justin Timberlake is fucking plastic. A Ken to your Barbie. He doesn’t feel.

But you’d like to.

By some twisted reasoning you had decided to make them feel, instead of yourself. Your last sacrifice, so to speak.

People, making fun of me,
For no reason but jealousy,
I fantasize about my death,
I'll kill myself from holding my breath.

It hadn’t been that hard to get them. Find a street corner, any corner. They live there, shifty eyed, waiting to prey on that next unsuspecting soul. But you wanted them to notice you. You wanted them to suck you in. You wanted to be their victim. 

So here you are. Staring into the tiny, unforgiving mirror. Evaluating your life.

Contemplating death. 

Alone.

You can hear them laughing in the room next door. Chris’ voice coming through muffled, yet high. Lance, the rumbling bass. Joey, happy and nasal. And JC…a sweet whisper. 

A part of you wants to join them. A part of you that you had thought died a long time ago.

You roll the smooth pills in your hand and ignore the conflict inside.  

Correction.

It had just died. 

You had forgotten about him.

The one, for the moment, who could make it all better. Make poor little justy alright inside. 

For that, you’d love him. But love can’t save you. You’re too far-gone. Too hurt. Too empty.

The guy said to only take one unless you wanted “some serious shit to go down.” Ironic, isn’t it? A drug dealer with a conscious.  

You laugh again to yourself as you put five in your mouth and walk through your ridiculously expensive hotel room. You pull three letters out of your bag.

One for the world, who had seemed to fail you. 

One for your mom, whom you’d never forget.

And one for JC…A letter for him to join you… and to make your suicidal dream complete. 

My suicidal dream,
Voices telling me what to do,
My suicidal dream,
I'm sure you will get yours too.

 You smile, as the voices stop and you ascend into a silent darkness.

Song lyrics from Silverchair's Suicidal Dream