Suicide: those words by the senders finding dead loved ones.

                                                       

                                                              Can I Play With Madness?

　



                  In the last entry, I gave you a glimpse of desperation heading toward suicide. From the four I have been given the opportunity to publish thus far, I am propelled to give you the words of those they deaders left behind.

              Of the four notes of progressing death being submitted to me, were there not storys behind them? Did these family members/friends/coworkers have no feeling whatsoever?

             AUTHORS NOTE: And do not look at others outside the USA for having lack of feeling due to a background of a Soviet Republic… At least they don’t kill for tennis shoes or Ipods…

　

              I published four letters of the dying: This is what the one submitting to me had to say.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

　



              I knew he was most distraught. Depressed, no longer smiling at anything, dead in life. A host of the party gone silent. No tears when asked what was wrong with him. He said simply, Just tired; and he’d bust another joke.

                 There was nothing serious about my brother. He could find sick humor in most everything and we’d smile.

               I knew he’d used women over and over time and again… He’d thrusted his way to a million plus dollar a year income.

              He’s dead. He was fucxked up… Why should I mis him anee less?????

Sorry-happay to sahre,

　

_____________________________________________________________________________________

　

               Love my sister, but she did deserve to die. You cannot use so many and not get killed. Seeya, sis…

　

　

_____________________________________________________________________________________

              I send you this because my Husband had an ironclad will. I was guaranteed my powers of his will long before I sent you this.

              A month passes, so I reach out, seeking guidance. realms of thieves, lawyers and hungery family wanters, clawing gnawing wanting a hunk of him. A bracelet, necklace, gold statue.



               Clawing for possessions he’d attained from legal right, not morally so, with chirst at his helm. He wnet to church with me… He annihilated others with the stroke of a pen. He handled his family and friends much the same.

                He took care of me and our kids What was he really though?

                He took us care of. I louds what he did. Sad he’s gome. Kids will miss his. _______________________________________________________________________________________

　

                Police find her note in her pocket, dotted with blood and fluids of her.

              Christ, I cannot fathom the guilt she felt as she wandered off to her killer or how many times she had done so before her slaying.

                Over coffee, she told me her desires, and yes, I saw her cliumb was far and beyond any of us would have gone. Yes, she did this by hurting others lives, but we thought his america corparation loiving….

              I miss her. Sorry she fekt sirry…..

              Vodka cleaning me.

‘’’’’’’’’’ of sister of

///////////////////////////////////////////////

                 RIP….

　

____________________________________________________________________________________

AN:

         Shallow messages left on devourers of both word and thought.

                You miss them, wish for others to learn and such.

           Why should any of us listen to you at all?

               Your words far reaching a shallowness of your departed that set you into motion so eclipsed at their passing and what they graced us with.



              The Why factor.

                  I sincerely believe they wrote these death notes for someone to learn

             I have been known to wrong before.



Sleep well, or awake grand on this Earth.

Mark William Darus