Tag Archives: Suicide


It’s four in the morning, and I’m sat in this room of gloom, eyeing pictures of you, of us. The rain clouts against my window, violent yet so soothing. I stroll to the door with my head tilted like a broken doll because I sense you standing in the hallway. The door creaks open, and there you are my love, with those dark eyes of yours; the ones I fell into. I run to you but you run from me, and I can only scream, urge you to return, but you are gone. Then I remember that time has slipped by; almost a year has passed. The panic subsides, yet the pain lingers on. Your voice calls from outside and I wander towards the lake, where I sense you. The front door of the house bashes in the wind, and I leave it behind, allowing silence to envelope me as I walk. And again I remember that time has slipped by; almost a year has passed. I’m at the edge of the lake but you are not here. Where are you? Don’t you want to exchange conversation with me? Don’t you remember us laughing that night, when the sun melted into the sky? Don’t you miss me? I sink to the ground, and my heart can take no more. He played games with the one that loved him. I slide into the water. The coolness soothes my soul, my mind; and slowly I sink into darkness, and I am gone.


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Paige’s soul sleeps somewhere numb, somewhere cold. Her dark, disturbed visions summon her to the razor. With every cut, she bids her blood to run. With every failed seep, she utters her mantra.

“Life won’t let me go. I cannot respire. I cannot perish. Forever, I shall suffer.”


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Lady of Darkness

‘The artist had depicted Eloise’s portrait a thousand times, but none had seized her essence quite as beautifully as the ‘Lady of Darkness’, dated 1949. The artist would repeatedly draw, paint, erase and collage; reworking the image in his desire to capture her myriad of emotions. This overworked process not only reflected his obsessive-compulsive nature, but also the subjects’ taunted, troubled mind. Heavily applied pencil marks portray her self-inflicted facial scars, with loving precision. She is encapsulated by an abundance of charcoal; reflective of the depressive world in which she existed. A bandage appears to adorn her forehead; but it is merely the result of overworked paper that became abraded and torn which required patching. Now, before we move on to the next piece, does anyone have any questions?’

‘How did Eloise die?’

‘She committed suicide. In his memoirs, the artist describes Eloise of having been infatuated with him; a desire he could never nurture.’


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