Sad that you have to find this note, this note that holds within it’s precious and short lines, the life of a once significant person—someone once alive.
I was never perfect, we never where, but dear by the time you read this, you’ll understand that after everything that happened in my life—I became perfect, sitting in the warm, fire of hell…
We are destined for death from the moment of our conception, some get lucky and die right off the back, and the rest past through from the carrier, our mother, into this world. You gave me life, mother, yes; do you realize you also gave me death?
—From the cuts the litter upon my arm, you’ll never see my life story, but you can read how little it was, you can read my knowledge and wisdom that you’ll never know—
The world was cold, there was no room for the ‘little people’, and so I made room for myself. Mercilessly slaughtering those in my way, do you understand I killed, for the sole purpose to live? I laughed at their pain, because it was no longer mine.
My pain—to know that you had no identity that it was taken at a tender and naïve age—so I cut, and why did cut? For attention, no, I cut to feel. I cut to feel my skin, my own body, to feel my heartbeat, my pulse—I could feel this intimate intrusion in my body as my cold, sharp blade sunk into my flesh, I say what went through my veins—there was no God, there was no dust, only blood, only imperfection.
I laughed, and I cried, and I moaned, because my blade was my lover, not some guy who had a dick and decided to scratch an itch; wasn’t there a bigger thrill in the fact they didn’t want to? I didn’t know, this blade, was my mother, after she died, my father, when he left, and the brother and sister that took care of me.
And do you know this blade was my cleanser? Because with every cut that I made, more of my imperfection was released, and I realized that every cut was knowledge, was wisdom from my life, and I smiled. This was paradise, an abode from this hell. One night, I lay there in my tub and blade right there beside me. I picked it up, and dug into my skin, my arms, my legs, and my wrists, and I finally…let my imperfection bleed from me….
I smiled and realized that…I was finally perfect.