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This is just a Story.

This is My Suicide Letter.

I have been dealt My final  Card.

They say Life wasn’t meant to be easy.

But why does it have to be so fucking hard?

I was Born in the Shit.

In My Teens I was still in the Shit.

My Twenties saw Me deep in the Shit.

My Thirties saw Me Swimming in a River of Shit.

In My Forties I stopped Swimming I just started to Float.

Now in My Fifties am I am being weighed down by a Shit

filled heavy Overcoat.

I am tired of feeling weighed down.

Getting sucked down into the Muck.

But at the same time I don’t give a damn.

I really couldn’t give a Fuck.

But I don’t want to go out that way.

I want to go on My terms.

Maybe I will fall into a Vat of hot Oil.

Or get Eaten Alive.

By Ten Thousand Blood sucking Worms.

When I think back to My Teenage Years.

Well I really try not to.

Cause bad Memories bring on the Tears.

I think about all of the Abuse that I went through.

Verbal Abuse Physical Abuse and Sexual Abuse.

The Verbal was being called a lot of nasty Names.

Pretty Boy Girly Boy and a lot of others that I wont mention.

Constantly being told that I was nothing but a piece of Shit.

But to My Tormentors it was just a Game.

They didn’t care how much the Name calling hurt.

But the Words went real deep.

That is when I first started to think about  going on a

permanent Sleep.

The Physical Abuse consisted of being pushed down a Dozen

Stairs A Toe Broken by a Mallet Spat on  Having My Hair pulled

Punched Poked and Prodded and Dead Legs

I was given so many Dead Legs that I virtually had a permanent


I should of fought back but I am such a Fucking Wimp.

The Sexual Abuse was being tied to a Tree.

Having My Pants pulled down.

And then I was Urinated and Ejaculated upon.

Then I was forced to do some nasty Acts.

But I am telling You.

It was never Consesual

I was the innocent Victim

I committed no Crime.

So why am I hear writing this last Letter?

I didn’t do anything wrong.

But I carry around a lot of Mental Scars.

I try to forget the past but I cant

Why am I so weak?

Why cant I be strong?

My Pen is writing these Words.

Letter by letter they fill the Page.

But as the Words form a Sentence and then a Paragraph

I am filled with a silent Rage.

I should have said a gentle Rage.

Because I am Timid I wouldn’t hurt a Fly.

But when I think of all the Crap I went through.

I only have one question.


Why was I so mistreated?

Why was I treated like a Dog?

No.A Dog would of been treated better.

That is one of the reasons why I am writing this Letter.

People say that you shouldn’t live in the past.

But that is where your memories take you.

You don’t know the future.

So your Brain goes in a backwards direction.

And dredges up things that are best forgotten.

And I remember why My Life is so Fucking Rotten

But enough of the Bad thoughts.

Lets talk about Death.

I think about it all of the time.

Every Second that I am Alive.

I wish that I was Dead.

The dark thoughts have been with Me for Years.

And are constantly fed.

From an early age Alcohol was My only Friend.

I couldn’t understand was I wasn’t more popular.

It was like I had an ugly Birthmark all over My Face.

So I Drank and Drank to go to a happier place.

I tried to be friendly.

But I was always pushed aside like a piece of Garbage.

I tried to keep a Smile on My Face.

But it was only a thin Veneer.

That is when I started to think

Lets end it all right here.

But I was weak and Spineless

A piece of Shit would be tougher then Me.

I know that My Pretty Boy Face.

Didn’t do Me any favours.

I was always Bruised Bloodied and Sore.

So at Fourteen I started to think.

Why am I even Alive anymore?

Over the Years People have told Me to Fight back.

But you are who you are.

You cant suddenly be a different Person.

You know a Leopard cant change its Spots.

And I have been good at connecting the dots.

I have never been a good connector.

I always end up by Myself.

I am like an old can of Baked Beans.

Picked up then put back on the shelf.

But enough of all the talking.

It is now time for action.

So I go to the Kitchen and open the Cutlery Drawer.

And a Carving Knife holds a Fatal attraction.

But before I put the Knife through its paces.

I close My Eyes.

And I say goodbye to my Family and Friends

I shouldn’t say Friends

Because I haven’t really  got any.

They are all to busy living their Lives

With their Wives or Girlfriends.

They don’t need or want to hang with Me.

But I understand because I am bad company.

I look out of the Kitchen Window.

And the Rain is pouring down.

Black Clouds fill the Sky.

A Black Cloud has been with Me My whole Life.

And a Black Cloud will be with Me when I Die.

I grab hold of the Knife.

And I stand naked in front of the Mirror.

And I proceed to open up My face.

Right down to the Bone.

Good I hate My fucking Face.

It is good to see it gone.

I just stand there watching My Blood flow away.

And after about Five Minutes I start to wobble

and sway.

The last thing I remember

Is Myself laying on the Floor.

And thinking.


That’s it.

My Life is finally over.

I have nothing else to say.


Thanks for taking the time to read one of my stories and now if you have the means could you please make a donation so i can reach my goal of becoming a fulltime writer. Thanks again Steven.