The flame flickers and licks at the darkness.  It inspires me.  If such a little light can shine through the darkness, then why can't I?  If such a little flame is able to overcome such a powerful thing, then I should be able to, also.  Sometimes I can't though, and I become discouraged.  But I then look at the little flame that still shines on.  It gives me strength, it gives me courage.  This little flame keeps me from giving up.  It's the only reason I am still alive.

Death looms in the air, heavy like a thick fog.  He is coming for me.  The light above my head flickers as I stare at the pills sitting in the palm of my hand.  Tears stream down my face, as if trying to escape the empty, black void that I have become.  My hand lifts to my mouth, my lips part open.  The little capsules enter my mouth and I feel them slide down my throat effortlessly.  Soon, I will leave.  I will leave this place with my only friend, the newly welcomed Death.  It doesn't take long for me to feel the effects of the pills.  I drop to my knees, clutching my stomach in pain.  He is near.  More and more tears flood the floor beneath me.  A cold chill sweeps over my body.  The pain is agonizing, but I love it.  I can finally feel something, again.  Then, out of no where, a sense of calmness comes to me, and that is when I know that my new friend has arrived.  That is when I know that I never again will have to feel the numbness, the emptiness, ever again.  Death has definitely arrived and I have become His faithful companion, His replacement.  I have taken His spot, for I am now Death, Herself.

I feel the darkness settling over my body.  The monster has come back.  I begin shaking uncontrollably as the only remaining tears in my eyes threaten to spill over.  I reach for the blade.  It presses easily into my skin and I watch as it gracefully glides through my leg, leaving a trail of angry red behind.  But one is not enough to satisfy the monster.  Yet another beaded red line is drawn in my flesh.  And another, and another, and another...  The monster claws at me, trying to win me over, but I won't let it.  I make more and more slices, never stopping for it is never enough.  The emptiness inside me grows and I feel the blackness swallowing me whole.  But I can't let him win, so I continue.  It gets darker.  I keep going.  Soon, I give in.  I can't satisfy him anymore.  I let the monster take me into the black, and when I arrive into the darkness, I realize that I should have let him win a long time ago.  Because I am happy now, and by letting him win, I, too, have won.  I am dead.

Mightnight black ravens soar past the blood red moon as the bells on the towering Cathedral church toll twelve.  Silently, the dead blackened trees watch as my chest, heavy with pain, struggles to let me continuously breathe in and out.  Little moonlight shines through the tree tops, causing the blade in my hand to glisten silver and red.  My head falls upon the *****, bloodstained leaves that lie, dead, all around me.  I long to be free, to be gone from this world and all the adversities that surround me.  I long to be dead.  Crimson flows from my body, a river of blood pours out.  The pain is almost overbearing, but as I lay dying, I welcome it.  I embrace it like an old friend, knowing that this will be the last thing I ever feel.  And then, with one last shuddering breath, I break free into the night to soar with the ravens above, leaving my cold, lifeless corpse, the only thing that had tied me to this earth, behind.

I rip the wings off of butterflies for pleasure.  
They are stashed in crystal jars underneath my bed.  
They don't deserve to fly, they don't deserve to be free.
What have they done to be rewarded with such a great pleasure?
Nothing.
They haven't been put through the same **** that I have,
         and therefore they don't deserve it.
I figure if I collect enough wings, one day my dream will come true.
I will be able to take all of the butterfly wings and fly away.
I rip the wings off of butterflies, why?
So that I, myself, can fly away and be free...

I sit, staring into my glass reflection.  Chips and cracks and missing pieces distort my image, confusing me for who I really am.  Little good is left.  I think back to a time, a time in the not so distant past, when I had stood in this precise place and could reflect upon the flawless image that had been before.  But little by little, changes occured.  I started to break, as did the mirror.  Slowly, my image became unrecognizable.  I was now a different person, the complete polar opposite of my old self, the complete polar opposite of the real me.  As I think back to this time, a silent tear falls from my face, for I know that these changes have permanently affected who I am, and who I was.  These changes make it so that the person I was no longer exists.  These changes have made me, me.