Dear Life Livers,
I wish that I am lying when I say that this doesn’t come straight from the heart. But I won’t. Because I don’t want to.
It’s because of that look you gave me today. It was hate: so pure and boiling that I couldn’t glance away from your deep, furious eyes. So would you even care if I just walked away? Or jumped away?
The window’s open.
The knife is unsheathed.
And shining in the light of a perfectly silver moon.
How can I refuse that?
Too many razor marks have alighted far from a purply seducing vein. Not enough of that beautiful, gloriously rich red has been spilt over the thousands of notes I’ve tried to write explaining…
There are skies. A streaky blur of perfect blue and white, the ripples of wind are gentle, warm. It is light but the stars are out and a hollow moon has risen side by side with the shining sun. Even then there are dancing shadows; little pockets of cold relief underneath the rolling heavens.
But not here, my friends.
Never again for me.