The Suicide
My feet can now feel the cliff's edge, above me great scoops of multicoloured light flow gracefully from bulging clouds, while below me the huge white cliffs dig deep into the earth's cold and stoney heart.
Life has become the tormentor and I the tormented.
My life has been compressed within the small corridor into which each and every person is expected to fit; with those remaining outside the corridor being considered to be rejects within society.
Reality has become a dim and distant figure in my mind. But what is reality? Is it the contemporary forms and figures which the mind chooses to bestow upon the indweller or is it that which society insists upon?
An exquisit feeling of unrepressible pain runs through my body, penetrating my very soul, like a starving wolf devouring its prey. The occasional wave crashing against the cliff below cuts a tender and merciful ripple through the blistering agony.
The world has become sick and polluted; the animals to whom this earth once belonged now lay smothered and cold on the oil engulfed beaches. Murderers, rapists and thieves safely mingle with the millions in every town, city and continent. But who are the real criminals? Is it those who become what they are because of their background and childhood upbringing, or is it the politicians who send thousands upon thousands of their followers into war and to their deaths for the sake of their vanity and their lust for power and money? Or is it just that my perception of the world is sick and distorted rather than the world itself being so? I grow tired of thinking. I grow tired of asking.
Both Heaven and Hell beckon me come. Adieu!
