... I am simply tired of all this, of this limp life on stilts of mine. These stilts must've been of uneven lengths, for I am such an incompetent.
Disintegration of personality, the stilts emerge triumphant; I am a stilted stilteneer, personality falls apart into a million little pieces. I do not claim the right, as I do not have the right - I'm losing it all, I have nothing. The stilts emerge triumphant, as I fall, fall, fall... Everything falls apart into little pieces, my tormented body floats through a red mist, a tired heart beats slower and slower. I struck my problems with an enchanted box cutter, and they fell over like they were cardboard cutouts. It was so easy. Blood generously flowed out of my burst veins, staining the bed a vibrant scarlet shade that will never wash off. And I'm dying, and no one cares. And I'll disappear, and it'll all be over. I close my eyes. Yes, everything will be alright. I try to imagine what my life would've been like if only things had turned out a bit differently. If only, if only. My wishes fall on a cold, harsh surface of stone. They will never sprout, they will never grow. Not in this life. The fury of twenty wasted years concentrated into one decisive stab in the wrist. Nay, not one, but two. Surely you could survive one, a healthy person might even survive two, but my tortured body broke under the strain of the blade, it finally surrendered, once and for all my vital organs faded out, one by one they fell into an eternal slumber, finally, finally, finally.
I stop thinking. I'm too tired for this. Yea, I'm worn out. I need to take a break from all this. It was all so easy. Over in a flash.

i have been bit, i have been infected. the maggots are inside me, they feed off living tissue and reproduce uncontrollably. until i'm reduced to a bag of writhing larvae, a black plastic bag containing an amorphous compound of flesh and disease. i am seeing the black plastic bag from the outside, from the perspective of a consciousness devoid of physical form. the consciousness has a name. the consciousness' name is alice, the girl who could never exist. because that's just how it has to be this time around. it had to end like this.

on a daily basis i blind myself to this awful sight, but one day i won't be able to carry on living like this.
one day, it'll all come crashing down on me. you cannot run from these nameless horrors forever.