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Not Bond, James Bond, But Despair, Ieatyor Despair

Another person drowned in their misery, another person lost in love and nowhere to turn but self-inflicted violence. Why can't my life be like his?

[breakdown] - why is my life such a lonely excerpt of a Poe poem? Why is my life a saddened excerpt from a Poe story?

Broken hearts and sighs are music to my ears and tears run through my veins. I am called to the job at the sound of carved flesh. The name is Despair, Ieatyor Despair.

Send out the distress signal and I will be by your side in a moment's time. What I do is not an occupation. What I do is my hobby. What I do is my decision.

[breakdown] - I'm here to subside and rid you of your pain so prepare. I'm here to subside and rid you of your emotional pain so just prepare.


Show me your self-inflicted wounds and I shall suck the pain out of your bloodstream. I promise I shall do nothing more for I am not hungry for blood. I am hungry for despair. Prepare, for the best is yet to come.



There is no need to repay me, for this is only my hobby and nothing more. Just utter a shameless thank you and I shall be on my way. I strike when the hour of self-inflicted death is nigh, so I am only a slit wrist away. One more thing. Don't come crawling back.

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