what lips my lips have kissed
Question:
Why do I write this.
<snip Can you offer me a shred of a reason to stay in this pigsty world?
the bare indication that you seem to want one. if somewhere in you someone wants to live enough to ask for reasons, hold onto that. find help. more reasons will come. ~~~~~~ Erik Martin Schneider rhetorician of sorts http://www.eriktrips.com
Response:
and where, and when, I have forgotten. The rain is full of ghosts tonight, specifically my 31-yo wife, whom I picked iced cold off the floor, by the nighttable, wedged next to the bed, dead by her own (accidental?) hand. My father, drunken, self-loathing, self-destructive paved the way for me to follow. I will not miss this life. I fear the dying, not the death. Why do I write this. My loneliness is so bone complete, cyber sympathy will make me laugh cold and hollow through the vacuum of my own despairing insides. I am 45. Many have died far younger. When I am gone, the same breezes will play through young girls’ hair, the same sun will shine on countless of pointless generations who neither knew nor cared. I jump into bottomeless night. Why is the gatekeeper so frightening. Because the promised land is so alluring. Can you help me? Can you help me simply die in my sleep, now that dying is so near? Can you offer me a shred of a reason to stay in this pigsty world? Frank
Response:
Filed under: Loneliness
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