RUTHEL

One cigarette burns between my fingers; it does not give me health, but only the illusion of life. Two cigarettes seem different; I can recognize that, it is certainly ridiculous... Three cigarettes and I feel delirious... I rave about his name as if it were the last sound I hear in the midst of my funeral... Maybe I am not feeling well..

I have tried to hide my feelings as much as possible, but I find that my actions betray them even indiscriminately. Like a moth hovering over a flame, so I hover over my scandals and pretend that everything is fine, until they end with the death of both of us....

Repentance pierces my heart like a knife; I don't know how they can forgive themselves. I can't even forgive myself for something so trivial. I see that I'm making things complicated, and I hate this more than I hate myself. How I wish a knife had pierced my heart instead of mercy.

I feel that there is no good in me. No matter how hard I try, I remain on the same path, a dark and weary path leading to the grave. I am like a moth drawn to the flame, drawn back against its will by the darkness. I no longer see the shadows. I feel the mist..

my youth has vanished, and I have accomplished nothing. I enter one age, I end another, yet I rejoice in neither. As if despair were a dark disease that consumes me to my last breath, and then it will finally become clear whether I will find joy in what is left of my life or whether I will suffer..

When I sit in infested places, it becomes obvious that I am more infested than they are. Leaving the house at night makes me euphoric when alcohol is absent...

Another year of suffering, people getting closer to death, Happy New Year, or should I say another miserable year...

The homes I've always wanted to live in are the same ones I'll visit soon, and forever....

The witch didn't become a witch to help people...she became a witch to help herself...but she failed....

A dark place where I describe my overwhelming emotions; I can no longer distinguish between sadness and joy. One moment I want to harm myself because of the intensity of my pain, and the next I feel overwhelming happiness that gives me false hope in this life...

I always try to extinguish the war within me, but I find myself igniting it even more...

I am not the one who should always return to ask for forgiveness; perhaps I was only waiting for this last disagreement to completely remove me....

The graves opened like silent mouths, asking for nothing and returning what they had taken. Inside the coffins, stories folded like damp leaves, names erased, leaving only the echo alive. Each coffin is a closed window onto a time that no longer belongs to the living, and each grave a cold memory that questions no one and makes no mistakes. A world people think has ended, but in truth, it is the silent beginning of something that needs no light to continue. For graves know no mercy, and coffins do not lie; both speak the final truth, without voice and without witness...

I wished I had been buried when I was young so that I wouldn't have seven minutes to think about the darkest days of my life on my deathbed...

I am nothing but a shell of my former self. I used to smile and enjoy each day as if it were my last... I just wanted to live my day normally... But now I feel like an old woman, carrying all the burdens and pains of the world on my back... And I am only young... I feel like a doll moving on the strings of this torture...

The roses wither, as my greedy heart withers. If I had known how much torment life held in store for me, I would have hanged myself before I reached home....