January 23, 2016
How will I die?
I want to die the way the General did. Reenacting a favorite scene from one of the books I worshiped in such a grand fashion.
I’d dress up in an outfit of a corset and heaps of silk, worthy of being a walking anachronism, twist my hair up with fancy ringlets on the side. I’d be facing a mirror, looking straight to the dark eyes but seeing nothing that I could trust. Blaming myself for keeping me company, talking of things that barely matters; and battling with my wits if I was ever talking to the devil all this time.
When I even reject my own existence because I do not believe in heaven and hell. I set my foot forward and sink in the pool of uncertainty with no hold but a rope at the bottom, tugging me to eternal damnation I do not even acknowledge.
I shall follow the path of Ivan Karamazov.
Brain slowly decaying as it surrenders itself to the endless stream of bruises caused by madness.
Needless to say, I barely survived the day.