Suicide Letter

I'm tired of this existence. I'm tired this so called kind of life of sacrifice my wants and desires and fetching crumbs off a table like little blind mice. I may have a mouth it's worse than my bite I can barely chew with my fangs so Stavroula still has her life. The wretched old dish rag. I'd rather wipe my ass with has passed past my boiling point. I do need to take an aspirin. I don't care about this life or to some dead Fuckers wife when I can grap my pistol. I do like my heat. My mother pearl handle, my last rights....as I go on my killing spree.  So I go further in the silence of the lambs and I look and loom about looking about. I go a distance with Lerch and Wednesday comes full out. Now what do you want bitch.... "How do you want to die for Jesus Christ and The prophet. There is no love for suicide.