Monday, August 10, 2009

Suicide Note

Dear Reader,


Life is an endless parade of death and disillusionment, marching thoughtlessly forward as the path of incredulous hope is crushed with ease under the heel of it's careless sole.  At approximately 1 AM this morning I swallowed what remained of a bottle of tums and washed them down with a mouthful of Alberto’s VO5.  As the calcium courses through my veins aided by the volumizing proteins of my milky death rinse, I come here in my final anguished moments to post my last grievances with this brutish world.


What a cruel ride it’s been.  To everyone along the way who has tried in every way to make it as soul-crushing and horrible as possible, I tip my hat, I couldn’t have done it without you.  But, the real credit goes to the man who’s been with me since the beginning.   He’s an all-consuming voice in my head and he calls himself Dr. Safety.


As life has pulled my fragile frame through the proverbial mangler, Dr. Safety has been at my side assuring me that the pointless pain of living can be forever soothed by what he refers to as "the mortal therapy."  As the brittle walls of my shaky existence come crashing down around me in a hell storm of torturous reckoning, I leave my case in the hands of the good doctor and in the faith of his velvet cure.


To those left behind, I assure you now that you’ve played no small part in my untimely voyage to the infinite.  Each of you like the many stones of a great wall has played some role in the aggregate of my shattered being.  Reckless guardian, reviled lover, off-handed heckler, this note is for you.  I have forgotten nothing, and the pain of each encounter resonates within me at a deafening frequency which grows louder each sunless day.


Why now then? You might be asking yourselves.  Well the answer to that is simple.


As the autumn of my youth approaches, my pride has contracted me to build my modest home on the banks of a mighty torrent.  In the throws of a raging tempest my foundation was unearthed and my life’s work was carried out to the vast sea where the ashes of my indentity litter the ocean floor.  Looking back perhaps I shouldn’t have played that many PowerBall tickets. 


And now with my chalky death soon approaching,


Goodbye cruel world, Good morning Doctor


I regret everything,


1 comment:

Lord Spathington said...

This doesn't mean anything unless you really go through with it. Only then will you have stolen my respect.