Suicide Note

Topic: Describe a slang word and how it has come to evolve over the years. (paraphrased)

 

Brittain Sluder

AP English III

Ms. Hooper

March 15, 2007

Suicide Note

Dear World,

Why do you hate me? What have I done to deserve the hard iron javelin that you have so thrust into my empty heart? My soul bleeds black and I weep. Night finds me alone in the world, sitting on my bed, bleeding out my suffering to the sorrowful melody of Fall Out Boy. The blood trickles down my arm, meandering as if to mirror my listlessness in life, my anguish. Slowly, a drop coalesces at my elbow, whereas it and the tear on my chin both tumble in free-fall to the floor, as my hopes and dreams sank when she left me. Now this dulled razor is all that remains to remind me of her passion. This is Hell.

I wasn’t always like this. I used to be a happy, rebellious non-conformist punk rocker. The weekends would find me not wasting away in my basement, but rocking out to the likes of Rites of Spring and I Would Set Myself On Fire For You. Then I began to meet new people at these bars, charming men who dressed like homosexuals to show the world how non-conformist they were. I became intoxicated. So I burned my old cds and adopted a new way of life. I had transformed.

But before I graduated from high school, my dad and I fought. He said I was “dressing like a fuckin’ queer” and that I was “more like his bi-curious daughter than a son.” From then on, my life would slowly deteriorate into a hell so complete that it would soon consume my entire soul, walking the line twixt “emo” and “goth.” My old friends grew older, went to college, and came back corrupted. Wearing the clothes of the oppressive capitalist pigs, no less! They called me naïve, and my heart was torn asunder. I was lost!

 

I reached the tipping point. Goth vs. emo. Any tormented soul such as mine eventually faces such a decision. The hatred of others or self-hatred and depression. My choice was largely one made in light of my personality. I was never strong. I am like a butterfly, half-trapped in its cocoon, its wings soaked in the melancholy rain of despair.

But even the emo have their own form of love. Emo guys and girls, though many further our suffering by suggesting that its really more like two girls than a straight couple when they see the emos courting. Nevertheless, I met this girl who I thought would care for me. She became my only beacon of light in the deep abyss that was life. This was shortlived, however, and I often still marvel at why she was drawn to such a pathetic soul as my own. O cruel fate!

So here I am, carving my arm for the fourteenth time this day. I grow dizzy. My life is worth nothing, and no one loves me. I am done for! O woe is me. I am Juliet, who succumbs in her despair. I am a broken poet! And so I depart this world a failure. The ink slips from my pen like the pain from my heart. Where else shall I turn? There is no one! So I wipe away the tears that have flown freer than any waterfall….I wipe them away, and I give my life to my razor.

 

-xXtormentedpoetXx