It is to my misfortune that I cannot kill myself, for my spirit remains too stubborn and everything is all floating around, occasionally tangling, occasionally splitting, but it still remains.
But I hope that what I have killed is enough to sustain this pathetic lifeform. But how can one know, when one is blind? The soul may look through the eyes, but it cannot see itself, for it is itself. Alas, but the time will come someday.
