Sometimes within ourselves we find that truth which has so lingered there, and sometimes we don’t find it. I can and do know what it is like to be at the end of yourself. You can ether fall off and die, or fall into the bed of grace. I know what comes of not wanting to live, I’ve experienced the ache within the skull to the point of wanting to end it all. To just...want...out...of it all...The pain of the crash is attractive in a pale way. I understand what its like to draw that razor blade across your membrane, and want to breathe your last, to long for mortality is to love the taste of blood in your mouth. Don’t leave me here. So I cried out to ‘God’ and someone came out to the car. There voice is muffled by the pain, all you see is a dark silhouette, spiting your feelings onto the glass, blood and sweat mingle together and you’re half conscience...Later they tell you that you lost ‘5 pints of existence’ I was so close to death I could smell it...her face is ugly yet longed-for...She cradles you in the shadow of her wings...and carries your disillusioned body to paradise. Its idealistic yet ‘unintelligent’ as some would say. They drag your wretched ass to rehab. There you don’t want to face this cruel reality, this world that so gnawed you to death and spewed you out...This has depleted me...this truth...I abhor living...So I’ll perpetrate this deliberate suicide, and hope that one day I’ll pass from this world to the next...and at long last be at rest.