Slice, Slit, Slip and That's the End
The Unforgettable Sound
It's an interesting feeling. The sharp razor in your hand, the slice of your skin, the dark red liquid spilling onto whatever is near you.
Okay, so call me crazy. If I cared, I wouldn't be writing this. I'd be with my "I'm-110-straight-it's-my-brother-that's-gay" brother, Nick, in the mental hospital, getting help. If I cared. And I don't.
Are you aware that you're reading my suicide note? You are. Yes indeed, this is the last you'll hear of Travis Rogers.
What I don't get is that I can't be accepted. I wasn't only in fights at school because I was gay. I was also beaten up by my brother for being openly gay and ruining his rep. Besides, it's not like I never fought back.
My parents don't care. In fact, they don't even know. I mean, I told them. But Mom was high and Dad was drunk. They have no fucking clue that the first guy I fucked was Kenny.
No, not the dog, you retard. The neighbor's 13-year-old son. I don't feel guilty for taking his virginity at such a young age, either. But then again, according to a lot of people, I'm crazy. You've got to learn to expect such from a crazy person.
So here I am, writing this on my computer while holding a razor, ready so that when the last word-no, letter- is forever burned into this computers memory I can slice a wrist, drop the razor trying to slit the other, slipp while looking for the razor, and slice my neck.
Slice, slit, slip and that's the end. My lifetime motto. Themotto I live by.
I mean, can you blame me? I've got no friends, a completely fucked family, and a reputation as 'Ms. Faggot' at school. Mmm. Try to stop me from doing this.
Yep. It's all been planned. What a smart little minion you are. How long? Months. Why? Reasons listed above.
Okay. Now I'm going to do it. I'm going to leave this hellhole forever. Goodbye.