What More Can I Say?

In the cyberworld, I live on a desert island. Alone, marooned, my hopes of rescue dimming by the hour, I still persist in putting messages in a bottle to throw out into the sea. Sometimes the futility of it all gets me down, and I start to think maybe death would a fine thing, but I angrily dismiss the thought, because I am sure the day after I snuff myself that's when the rescue would come, and I'd hate to have someone find me sprawled lifeless across the sand when I could be singing some sad song instead. So I hang on to whatever shreds of reason remain, and if that fails me, I clutch my madness even tighter; scream to the heavens and make the angels cry, curse Hell and make the devils laugh. Rapid mood swings are my favorite exercise.