The Used Cigarette: Thoughts of the Depressed.

... If I tell them I had initially written this with my blood, what would they think? What would they say? Would it alter their thoughts? Corrupt their mind? Destroy the very essence of their innocence? What if I tell them, they had killed me a hundred thousand times, and had done it again? And again? And again? What if I tell them the most demented part? The most beautifully deranged action? What if I say I had tried to murder the that disgusting, stubborn undying that glows within me, itching for cadaverous happiness?...

...I am a walking corruption. I am carrying the tumbling towers of my universe's bricks and I'm falling apart. I am dragging my past, and Death is my loyal companion...

... And they have taken my world away from me, and left me with my most revolting part. But, who am I speaking to anyway? These are the thoughts of a mind amidst a civil war, and who yells for the civil war anyway?.. Let me rot as die if I must, take my children, and keep them safe, and sell this heart to a cannibal...

... I would deserve it anyway. I've lived a day that was a thousand years, and I understood. I got the message. I am as worthless as a disposed cigarette... Standing at my grave will be children I never raised...

... You were a push, did you know that? You've drawn me closer to the inevitable. You proved— yet again!— just how expandable I am, the burned cigarette.