It has been excruciating for me to see how I had been reduced to nothing. The walls had come down, and around me everything had been flattened like nothing more than cardboard cut-outs, theatrical props. I’m standing on stage naked and alone, exposed and humiliated. It would take but a single match to obliterate the rest of what surrounds me. What stops me from setting fire to the ruins of my life?
It has been excruciating to live this life, plagued by a disease that gnaws at my soul and rends my heart apart into shreds of mangled tissue. I’ve been crippled and savaged by the brutality of this illness. I cannot hope to run away, even though my thoughts escape me from time to time, even though madness consumes me. I am reduced to a pile of ashes and then raised, like a golden phoenix.
Death is too good for me.