Suicide Note


Maybe life was never meant for me.

Maybe death was the only suggestion.

I was meant for nothing.

Nothing else,

And only death.

To strengthen only those before me,

And to find this inevitability.

I see…

I see only this.

I see only grief.

I take only pain.

Only anguish I feel…

Simply that.

The blade has come

Joining its hilt.

The last cigarette,

My ironic solace.

And yes, my pen.

My lonely pen.

All that I have in my hand.

Is this all—

All that I gain?

All that I offer?

All so little…

Can I not ask for more?

This is not hate.

There seems no understanding—

In what is

What was

What can be…

But I have lost.

There is nothing else,

Nothing less.

To search this,

But to find so little.

To taste it,

And to yearn so much.


This was not as I have wanted.

This end I have only thought.

Faults I can only perceive.


I can take none else.

None else yet so great.


It is over.

I wish only for the other


Death be mine

Let me take this

Let me have this.


And this…

This…this is all.