Counting Bodies Like Sheep
livingnaughty asked:
You ok, dear?

Not really

What a night to flirt with death. Will the sun rise tomorrow? Is this the reason for life? To simply die.. Am I ever going to be okay…


German artist Willi Glasauer: illustration for a Spanish edition of The Monk (1996)

I dreamed vaguely of killing myself to wipe out at least one of these superfluous lives. But even my death would have been In the way. In the way, my corpse, my blood on these stones, between these plants, at the back of this smiling garden. And the decomposed flesh would have been In the way in the earth which would receive my bones, at last, cleaned, stripped, peeled, proper and clean as teeth, it would have been In the way: I was In the way for eternity
I felt myself in a solitude so frightful that I contemplated suicide. What held me back was the idea that no one, absolutely no one, would be moved by my death, that I would be even more alone in death than in life.

Get right. Tell me, do I owe you anything? You whisper a casual love you. Helping someone in need. Is that all this is? Do you care if I’m protected? Am I as beautiful as you say? As you let me wear an eight hundred dollar mink coat. Am I as special as you say I am? Do you love me? I’m scared you do, giving me money to have a fun night without you. I don’t understand