I have no one. People that I once labeled as 'friends' left my side long ago. I sit in the emptiness and silence that is my own conscience, waiting for a sufficiant reason carry on living this life. The beautiful piece of metal that I hold tight in the palm of my hand starts to bite through my skin; but I do not release my grip. I like the pain; it reminds me that I am still here; still living this pointless life.

I often wonder "What is the point?" It seems that every creation on this colorless planet was born for one purpose and one purpose alone: to die. Death is the only thing any living thing can truly rely on; it won't let you down, it won't forget to turn up; it will always be there, watching you, looking out for you, waiting for you to slip up, so it can catch you when you fall. Death is my only true companion; it would be rude not to embrace it. I stare at the blade once again. It took me hours to pick it out; I knew it had to be beautiful. I would not give my life to death without honor, and a magnificent blade will help me do this. I picked out my best clothes, spending hours on end ironing every cervix, and washed my hair vigorously, making sure I was completely cleanse in my final resting place.

I have never been much of a religious person, and still to this day I am not sure in my beliefs; but I would like to. I'd love to believe that after my heart stops beating and my blood turns cold that my soul will rise from body and all of the hurt will leave with it. Maybe my soul would venture to the bright gates of heaven, and I would live happily forever more. I snigger at that one, heaven? HA! More likely, after my soul had arisen, the daemon Satan would slay down my soul and force me to the cruel depths of hell for eternity.

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