Only when the last "I" is spoken will you know that it is time to close the book. The irreconcilible "I". For as long as "I" speaks, that hated upright beam of the gallow, there is hope, and pain. And a tomorrow strictly identical to yesterday. Agonizingly identical. The absurdity of an inextricable stalemate. This forum is populated with a million "I"s all crying out loud "love me, please love me". The dead are silent. Cold. Unloved. Forgotten. They post no thread. They pose no threat. Their "I" forever obliterated. To wish neither death nor life but the impossibility of being unborn. The very contradiction is in the words. To have never seen the light and darkness of this world. Therein lies the true suicide.