"Do you think that's it? Do you really think you've hit rock bottom?" he snarled, glaring his teeth at me.
"Do you really think you have nothing to lose?"
His words hit me like a derailed train. I was the only barrier against a tirade of twisted poetry. His words cut me like a blade, and my conscience wept pathetically.
I was bereft of speech.
My life bore the shield of melancholy, and i wielded the sword of worthlessness. My dreams crumbled to dust before my eyes, and my ambition amounted to fuck all. I proved to humanity a worthless existence, and it rewarded me with indifference. The woman i loved corroded my soul, and flitted through my mind, like an airborne plague, destroying my passion and raping my love. This cancerous enamouredness spread from my soul and consumed my being. This despair boiled in my stomach, and rose to my mouth in a bile, and I tasted my anguish as it smothered my flame. I had come to the end of a long and arduous journey, I had pursued an impossible dream, I had taken life by the throat, and it had left me naked and empty in the dark. I had failed.
He slipped the knife into my hand and pressed it against my breast. the cold steel breathed on my soul, and the tip strained on my skin, sensing my beating heart lying so close to its lips. He move behind me, still with his hand on mine, and he breathed down my neck. It was a twisted sight, a tragic romance, an embrace born of lust and warped by hate, pervaded by fear and devoid of restraint.
"It is through living that we earn death" he whispered in my ear.
The knife penetrated through my ribs, so slowly; so tenderly, and I exhaled relief as I found the answer to all the problems that had plagued me for so long. I did not fight it. I had the strength, but my passion had died. My heart was empty, and no blade could cause it any more pain. I did not cry, I did not scream. I did not think of those I would leave behind, my mind did not regale me of lost memories from my childhood. I did not think, I did not feel. It was a beautiful way to die.
