Dignity
by johannespunkt
We die together and it is romantic. We don’t stay dead for long because you made a jarring post to your blog, and someone cared, and someone else called the emergency services. The last thing I hear before I die is a siren’s wail, which I find poetic. Elephants climb the stairs. The door is kicked in, we are rescued. I blame you. This is me blaming you, still. They tell me you puked up your insides and that there was no romance in sight, that you convulsed. It was all very undignified. There is no real dignity in love.
Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost 
Reminds me of Emilie Autumn’s The Art Of Suicide.
Nothing is ever as romantic as you think it’s going to be.
Heh. I have been listening to Emilie Autumn lately. Not that song in particular, but still.
I started planning for things to be awkward and unromantic and it seemed to do the trick for them being more romantic than expected. (This is not at all related to the drabble above, I haste to add.)
Let The Record Show is my favourite at the moment.
I was getting slightly worried at the beginning of that second paragraph, I have to admit…