IconElegies

Death is a long time to wait knowing that it will inevitably come. And I could not wait any longer. Your head falls and the people have had their revenge. I am hated as I was once admired. Lies and slander, there's enough of that. So short was the path from glory to the darkest dungeon that it turned me gray. I had nothing but my pride with the people mocking in the background the whole way to the guillotine. I kept it, my pride, and the people had their revenge. Queen Marie Antoinette was executed by guillotine.

I was a victim of the king's lust. I couldn't satisfy that lust either but many other women could. From the queen's maid to the queen, I paid for crimes I didn't commit, my greatest crime was not giving birth to a son, an heir. But I gave birth to a queen, and laughed on the scaffold, after all,  I was innocent of the crimes I was accused of, and an executioner was brought from France for me. Then I became the Queen of Heaven, worthy to the end. And my successor was already waiting for her turn. Anne Boley was the second wife of King Henry VIII, who was beheaded for infidelity and incest. The allegations were fabricated.  

They still fear me, even though I'm gone. They wonder what I knew, and made my own decisions about my life. Jeffrey Epstein is still a name. And I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, even though I'm gone. Prison wasn't fun, why would I stay there, I belonged in glory, not misery. A poet's note. Jeffrey Epstein, who knew the rich and famous, is still the news of the day years after his death.  

I can't breathe. I begged them to stop. They didn't stop, not even when I called out for my mother. By then it was too late. I would never have guessed that I would become the face of change, the face of rebellion and centuries of oppression. And to others, I was just a junkie and a thief who deserved his fate. I was a human being, I had a name. The death of George Floyd at the hands of the police was followed by widespread protests.

I was cursed. That's how it had to be. Cursed in life, cursed in death. My desire to die, that's what finally got me. No one else would have stuck my head in the gas oven. I knew I was a genius, I knew I was great. I just wouldn't be there to see it for myself. My desire to die won. Maybe it was meant to be this way. Everything in life was either too much or too little for me. Poet´s note. Sylvia Plath committed suicide. Today she's a classic poet.    

That's how it happened. The football season was over. I lived a long time. Too long. Even a young wife wasn't enough to keep me alive. I've already done everything I wanted to. And I dared. This wasn't fun anymore. I wasn't fun. I decided my fate, like always. It was easy, it didn't hurt. And you don't shoot just anyone into the sky with a cannon. Poet's Note. Hunter S. Thompson was the father of gonzo journalism