Death's Sweetness

A dark insight into a tortured mind. My first posting; be kind.

Death’s Sweetness

            You have the power to do anything you set your mind to.  Fiction and fantasy are your reality.  Life is meaningless and pointless; what is the point in living in the general population’s reality when your own heals all wounds.

            The pain in your chest has been gnawing at you for years -- pounding and scraping.  Clawing at your skin has done nothing!  The pain is mocking you; taunting you in writhing pain.  To others you look normal, but to yourself you are convulsing on the floor, foaming at the mouth, just wishing it could be over and you would die already!  You want so badly to just grab a knife, plunge it deep into the crevices of pain, and twist and twist and twist--.

You know it would be a pleasure to hear your bones cracking and the squishy crunch of the knife deep in your body.  Maybe if you are lucky, it will explode through to your spinal cord, giving you the rush you need and crave.  Next, you would slowly pull the knife in and out breathing in at its every exit.  You feel pain, but it makes you forget the pain prior to the knife… almost.  You do not like the idea of causing yourself pain, but you know it is necessary.

Have I mentioned you have tried to die before?  And yet death still escapes your grasp.  You felt this pain getting worse and so hard to control that you felt like your mind was slowly exploding and compressing against the confines of your skull.  You had it planned; jump and the car will go right through the pain, peace and freedom at last.

Your body is useless anyway; full of parts that never meet perfection and only remind you of your internal pain festering inside and incinerating your body, the corpse, from inside on its way out.  Your soul would be freed!  Your suffering gone, you could cry in peace, happy to find life.

You were never so lucky; the car stopped, and you lived.  A part of you want to lunge at the car screaming, “TAKE ME!  TAKE ME!” while sobbing on its hood.  The body without the soul that goes by your name kept walking.  You knew it would be worse to cause a scene.

You kept your emotions a secret because the last thing you wanted was attention.  Attention would mean that people would never leave you alone and would not let you fulfill your ending journey.  It would also mean that your last few moments would be spent with their eyes full of disgusting pity and feigned understanding!  Who do they think they are!?  You just want to be left alone.

That was years ago which is why everyone thinks you are fine.  They no longer see your torture you have learned to hide nor your constant sobbing that comes out only when you are alone.  You know now is the time to strike " it is unexpected and the pain has worsened instead of subsiding.

You have visualized your death a million different ways to whatever sounded like it would take away the pain the best.  Most dealt with chopping, clawing, scraping, or exploding because that is what you can feel now, almost as if it was foreshadowing on how you would kill yourself.  You have realized at this point, no one is willing to kill you.

A gun to the side of the head or in the mouth sounds quick and painless.  It almost seems like the best way, since you have wanted to be nothing for so long.  You do not have a gun though, nor would anyone be willing to put one in your hands.  The crisp sound of the gun shot with your eyes closed to the incoming pleasure -- presents a dream come true.  You do not yet wish to go into such antics though, but you know pain would be best for your situation.  You make your death sound like a joke to others, flat out saying your plans, but they would never think that you were capable (that has always been your intention).

The pain makes you dive into your mind where your death is an every second occurrence.  Reality does not exist in its normal sense and your dreams have leaped from your subconscious and created death in a new stage.  You write your letter of good riddance, signed only by your name.  You do not leave pleasantries, nor are you anything but blunt in your reasoning.  Today you die by your hand in the people’s reality.  They will now see the soulless creature as it really has been.

Your mind gives you the last perfect image of how you may die.  It gives you your first real smile since the event; this causes tears of joy to stream down your face in a pounding almost inhuman.  You dig your nails around your eyes until the blood mixes with the tears.  They curve in until you have a good hold on your eyeballs.  You can feel the slimy texture and start to squeeze, but yank them out instead until they have become disconnected.  You can no longer see anything to enhance your pain.  You pulverize the eyeballs, bringing them close to your chest with one in each hand.  You then take an ax that you borrowed from a neighbor and slice your face completely in half in one swing.

You lie there for hours until your death is known.  Your blood covering the floor in a sea of blood and your note contrasting in pure white, your smile never faded and is split in two on the floor.  Your face so smeared with blood and tears, you are hard to recognize, but there are no questions left for you to answer and your body is as you wished.  You have finally discarded the carcass.  Your pain is eternally gone from your mind and you are free to live in your reality.

Reviews

[Alexander Loux]

What a beautiful piece of writing. So very disturbing, but the beauty lies in the morbidity. It is surprising that you write so elegantly something most people do not wish to even think about. This is a very emotional piece, and as some one who has felt many of what you have written about, I have to say that you did a great job capturing the beauty of the emotion. Great job for doing that so well! I look forward to reading more of what you write. My only things about it is that you in one place used the word "like" which I think weakens the beauty of your sentences, and that this does not seem very much like a poem and is more like a short story. Either way, this is very beautiful and well written. Well done!

[Daniel Eckert]

This is a very morbid piece. Some of the paragraphs have a great rhythm to them. I especially like where and how the, "twist and twist and twist" was inserted. While a sad picture, it paints a story while adding a beat. Reminds of the good old, ringing church bells Poe wrote about.

Keep up the good work!