Narrative-Assisted Suicide

I never wanted to die, I’d rather be asleep. But if the alternatives are nothing else but agonies and pain, death seems a million times easier. I guess it was the voices of the night that kept me awake, I could hear the sound of insomnia howling and screaming of the doom nearing. “Soon there will be a thunderstorm, the kind that digs your soul before your mind realizes,” whereas the Sun forgot to rise, but rather gaze at the Earth who shivers in the breath of morning breeze, “Then there will be a slow rising.” But that was before any of this happened.