By Raven-curtaincall-finalact@juno.com
Date: 9 October 1998

Eternal Love

That's it: my life is over.  I have nothing to live for.  Without you life 
has no joy, no pleasure, no point, no reason at all.  No meaning.  Without 
you, I have nothing: my soul is gone, for you were it; my heart is dead, 
for you gave it life; my hope is out of hope, for you were its inspiration.
It's too late for me.  No salvation, no forgiveness, no redemption.
How do I kill myself?  I can't live like this! for such an existence as 
this is no life at all, but instead a cruel joke perpetrated by the Fates.  
Should any man wish to be when he has driven away the lone piece of light
that the world had not robbed him of?  Should any man (be he a man) go on 
living when he knows that he has hurt the single most adored figure of whom
he knows?  By Hell no! no one such as this should be given the cance to 
survive!
So many times men take something fragile like another's heart and treat it
as they would a ball: toss it up and catch it.  Should it fall, oh well! it
is but a plaything!  Why should they concern themselves with its state?  
But a heart is a delicate object: it, unlike a ball (lest is be made of 
glass), may break when dropped, or if not, then at least become bruised and
pained.  And yet they still play catch-as-catch-can.
How often I tried not to be one of them!  How I strove to keep that savage,
brutish part of my psyche under control and to even civilize it!  Yet all 
was for naught! it would not forever be contained and upon its escape havoc
did reign.  Harsh words did you and I exchange, and for what purpose?  Out 
of what reason did we quarrel with one another?  For a mindless suggestion
on my part?  For an unintentional slight on yours?  For a lack of 
communication by both?  Yes to all.
No, my fault, all of it.  All of it was MY fault.  I should have been wiser
in my terms, more subtle in my queries, ad more compassionate (and at the 
same time logical) in my responses.  Yet was I?  No! a thousand times! no!
a thousand self-inflicted wounds across my chest! no! a thousand shattered
bottles piercing and slicing my skin! no! a thousand tears! no! a thousand 
drops of my own blood! no!  My guardian angel, he who lives within me, he 
of the black clothes and the white face, did attempt to steer me away from 
my path, but my refusal to listen has led to the blood of myself upon my 
hands! for out of spite and self-hatred did I smash an empty glass upon my 
stoop and many times upon myself take it back and forth!  Like the Reverand
Dimmesdale, he himself a siner, did I exact purification.  However, my 
wounds take no shape but jagged lines of a sharp edge.
And yet this solution was but transit, for once the blood ceased to flow 
and the wounds began to heal, my internal pain was renewed, for now there
was no outlet for this poison which resides in my veins to escape through.  All now
was for it to trouble me again.
Scar! scar! can you imagine my awe at the deeds which I performed?  What 
stopped me from simply slitting my throat I know not, but the force was 
contented by merely an opening above my heart.  O! the sight of my red life
oozing slowly, while shocking, was so soothing.  However, I knew should I
leave the bottle near I would soon again slash myself so I threw it through 
my door and watched it disappear back to Hell.
And again, my dear, the pains in my dead heart have returned.  So strange:
I had always believed that the dead could feel nothing.  Perhaps this is
true only when mind, body, and heart no longer breathe?  Anon I shall learn
if this be so.
How to go about it?  A knife?  Slit my wrists and throat?  But would that 
not take too long?  My death would not be immediate and I may be saved.  
What life then?  That of a madman?  Locked away, not for attempting suicide,
but for failing?
A gun?  One shot and the world would have one more opening.  But what of 
the noise?  It would draw attention, and depending on the location of the
bullet, there may still be a chance at salvation.
Poison?  Quite possibly the best option.  To drink it as I would a glass of
water and then allow the chemicals to destroy me.  But my naturak defenses,
at the intervention of one another may cause me to purge myself.
Hanging would be effective only if my neck were to break.  If not, death
will be a slow aphixyation.
To be in front of a moving vehicle would do if the driver did not stop.  
And should he, then what?  Feign drunkedness?
Damn! the options are so many but the chances of success are so minute that
there is little reason to try them!  There must be a definite way!  
Of course! to jump from a certain height and land below!  Why not?  There 
is no salvation, unless my view of God and religion is wrong and an angel
flies from Heaven.  From the height I plan, to survive would be a curse.
So now, my dear, you have heard of my troubles, all my own fault and all
admitted.  I can't repair my wrongs by making them disappear, for I did 
hurt you.  That may not have been my goal, but it was my result and for 
that I shall never forgive myself.  You may, how I pray you may, but I 
shan't.  Think not ill thoughts of me, dear lady, for I will, no matter 
what or where I am, shall always love you.  This may mean little to you, 
but know that it is now and always shall be true. Know also that I shall be
waiting for you in whatever afterlife there may be, saddenned and ever 
weeping tears of blood, bottle broken in hand.
Eternal love.