I Think My Brain Is Rotting In Places I Think My Heart Is Ready To Die I Think My Body Is Falling In

i think my brain is rotting in places i think my heart is ready to die i think my body is falling in pieces i think my blood is passing me by i think my fate is losing its patience i think the ground is pulling me down i think my life is losing momentum i think my ways are wearing me down BUT IF I GAVE UP ON BEING PRETTY I WOULDN’T KNOW HOW TO BE ALIVE I SHOULD MOVE TO A BRAND NEW CITY AND TEACH MYSELF HOW TO DIE

Imagine showing up to work one day and people are like "jesus fucking christ there's a corpse in here", herd you to the back room and everyone who sees you also agrees that there is now a dead body where you are sitting, with the appropriate amount of shock and disgust about it. You figure it's some kind of a prank that they're pulling, but also the people that you know aren't into pranks, or aren't very good actors, are treating you like a corpse. They go weirdly back and forth between talking about you as if you're not there, and politely asking you to stay still while they figure out who you're supposed to call in case of a dead body randomly appearing.

Paramedics show up, study you thoroughly and agree that while they can't see any apparent sign of death, you are, indeed, dead, and ask you to climb aboard the ambulance. You're taken to the temporary corpse storage that hospitals have.

On the way there you ask them whether this kind of shit happens often, and while they won't look at you, the paramedics agree that they've never had a talking corpse before, though they won't question the fact that you're moving on your own.

You're eventually led to a morgue, where you're shown a slab to lay on, and at this point you don't really even question it, you just climb onto the Corpse Shelf and lay down, maybe have a little nap, with no idea what's going to happen next.

Then you wake up to someone walking into the morgue, who has the shit scared out of them when you move, and they're like "dude what the fuck, you're not supposed to be here, this place is for storing dead bodies" and when you're like "aw man sorry I thought I was a dead body" they have no idea whether you're joking and they don't care, you're just chased out of there.

And you just kinda go home and take a shower, show up to work normally the next day and nobody questions it.

And basically that's probably how those ants feel when scientists spray them with the Pheromone That Dead Ants Smell Like, and just hang out at the dead-ant-pile until the smell wears off.

Pandemonium by Kim Jakobsson.

In the club whimpering like a kicked dog

Tracey Emin, from the series Exorcism Of The Last Painting I Ever Made, 1996