where the writers are
just another suicide note

to whom it may concern,


right now, in this very moment, the cloud of despair has descended upon my soul, eating all hopes from within.


i seek reasons, i seek redemption, i seek justice, i seek peace. i seek answers to questions no one bothered to ask.


i reached out to touch the last strand of sanity left but all i was able to grasp was a very cold breeze, slowly kissing away the flickering flame of life.


death would arrive any minute now, with the last gasp of breath marking the end of all suffering. life was unkind, its promises flowing forth with the river raging inderneath this flimsy bridge.


i fear what’s next. i wonder what is behind the door they have as exit from the poor excuse of a life they so treasure. am i to expect that beyond lays a beauty no one has ever imagined, except for the subconcious whose words are more suited to justify the very existence.


is there really a purpose for all of us being here, hurting each other whenever we can, loving each other whenever convenient, shooting the fools who love too much and hate too little, call them martyrs then build them shrines who no one really give a fucking care about?


perhaps the world has move into something surreal, where life is something overrated for the purpose of plugging gaping holes.


not that i care, nor that i want to. i see the end in forever, a vanishing dot in a horizon that extends towards eternity.


life isn’t as precious as we pretend it is. it changes nothing, it changes everything, the more it changes, the longer it remains, the harder it runs, the shorter the distance.


i throw away the pen with which i have created life.


i throw away the life with which this pen has created.


unfaithfully forever,

the animal