I set my body on fire so I could be free.
It seems to be every other week that I rush to the worlds end in the hopes that I will find enough courage to throw myself off, into oblivion.
I am sick of it.
Recently, I fell in love with a young woman. She was incredible. She would smile so brightly and whisper that she loved me. Her dark, beautiful eyes with little pools of light shimmered as she came in close for a delicate kiss. She made me happier than I think I have ever felt.
She made my dreams come true, through the simple act of being.
But with the good there is also the bad. When we argued, it was like a vicious battle for survival. One pitched against the other in an all-out fight to the death. We would reduce each other to tears and attempt to inflict wounds upon ourselves, both physical and mental, all of this out of spite, pure and simple.
So it seems rather fitting that it should end as it began, with me standing on a bridge, my head in a noose.
This experience has taught me one thing though, at least: That I am worth more than this simple, pathetic death.
It lacks passion and fire.
What is it that they say? “It is better to burn out than to fade away.”
I will be happy again and I shall kill myself at the very climax of it all, if I have to.
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