When I tried to hang myself, I told everyone that I did it once, and that the material I had used (I couldn’t find the belt I was going to use), slipped off the door knob, and that was why I was unsuccessful. That wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. That same night, I laid awake, staring at my ceiling. It had been around three in the morning when I got up, turning to my night stand to turn on the small lamp. I fumbled through my clothes, and I found that belt I tried to find earlier. Creating two loops, I put one end on my door knob: pulling tight to make sure it would hold my weight. I got on my knees with my back to the door. Slipping the second loop over my head, I left the leather dig into my neck, tightening it before I leant forward. As I leaned, I thought of how silent and quick I would go. How my roommate wouldn’t stir from his sleep, or at least not before it was too late. I knew that I was going to be successful in my endeavors. That thought isn’t why I panicked and stopped when I began to see stars. Neither was the thought of my family missing me, or the people I loved hurting because of me. I sat there, weeping silently, belt still tight against my throat, with one thought in my mind: I would just have to start over again. Even if I did die, I firmly believe in reincarnation. There would be no sanctity in death. I felt no peace like I had when I was younger; when I had been swept into the currents of a river, pulled under. I had hoped it would have been like that: a peace washing over me, and a silent acceptance. I had been ready, even at such a young age. Looking back, it was like when I had reached up with one final effort, and grabbed a leg to pull myself up out of the depths. Even in death, there is no end. That’s the only thought that stopped me, and I still feel an overwhelming selfishness because of that. I cannot say that love saved me, and that will always haunt me.

I love you so much that I killed a living being and presented you with it's corpse.

It's a beautiful little bloody thing that you'd appreciate

of course, I thought of you when I committed murder

there's no better way to express my fervor toward you.

This plant-based passion delights all your senses

bright red pedals, so delicately scented,

wrapped around a thorny stem and set inside my hand,

and when I look into your eyes you know that everything expires.

Everything except the love that I feel for you,

which extends its existence by feeding off the death of lower things,

including other interests I may have, and both our bodies.