This is the abyss. This pain, heartburn and this agony. Every day, I see my will to live getting chipped at the foundation, corroded by years of depression. Each day the desire to **** myself lunges at me and tries to pull me in. The bruised and battered kid in me screams "I don't want to die! " but only the lips move and no sound comes out of my mouth. I burst out crying. It temporarily numbs the pain but the feeling lingers. Death deferred to another day. I thought of another way of killing myself today. I quickly took note as I'm forgetting things easily these days. What will be left of me when the devil takes my soul away? My physical body, my sad life, a few stories, and some poems. Poems, most of them written for someone who doesn't even know me. I'm not dying for her, definitely not her. No, not for a person. I'm dying for love, more so for its absence. I craved for love, I searched for it, I thought I found it, I begged for it and I'm going to die for it. My action is going to ease the pains of the people around me. The ones who suffered because of me. The ones that heard me but got tired. My life is a mess, it always has been. They have people that love them, promises that need to be fulfilled, love to be found. And you, reading this. I have no malice towards you. There's nothing you can do. But read this and forget, because life isn't as rosy as we thought it to be and this isn't the experience I am speaking from. This is me, losing the battle, on my knees, waiting for that final blow of a sword. One that puts me back in the same elements I emerged from, ridding the society of my burden.