English essay [Suicide]

[Draike]

Well it was a thing/event/scene essay. A massive 605 words... Tear.

Spoiler:

Due to the shape of the room, which was a hexagonal polish sasuage from hell, I had to manuever my desolate things in an easy place so passer-bys would be averted. The bare room was filled with personal items of every kind around the walls. The room was not exactly that large,in fact , its cramping feeling was that of a fly being under a bullet shot by the amazing flygun. I had no choice but, after all, I would not be here much longer. It did not matter anymore, though the aged rope had more dry blood already than the damned World Wars, I would still try.
A thought was already being felt in my screaming head that the blood on the knife would give it away, I was just hoping nobody would look in the stained windows. Bloodstains caught my curious eyes as I moved and the pale moonlight gave it a glare, the red was like nothing I have ever seen before; it just seemed impossibly simple for it to appear as the color of a garnet sparkling under the shadows. As I stared around the glorified room for the urge to check everything a page from my tattered old journal caught my eye, I couldn’t quite read what it said but it looked like splintered wood. I finally left the room for my own life, for my fear felt like it would finally find itself fighting to free the feeling of depression. Not tonight it would not, not tonight.
In all the sudden chaos, the creaking sound of the pathetic noose caught my ears, I could not ignore it much longer. As soon as the blaring alternative music started on my decrepit but advantageous stereo I was about to jump out to attack like romance, which could be as fierce as famished bears in the middle of a large and well-stocked aquarium. For some reason the guitar in the song sounded as if it had been sunk under a million gallons of water, its slow tunes were grating on my already grated nerves.
The curling smoke from all those restless nights came back to me as I laid down onto the dirty mattress that smelled of stale cigarette; the taste even came back. It was still a bit dirty in spots from the night before where I bled generously, it made me uneasy tasting my own blood. The blood was tasted like iron or some other metal, it was cold in my mouth. The only way I could think of would end thinking forever.
I was tired, the cold bit at me like a thousand mosquitos biting at a recently fed vampire. I could not stand it, it was so dreadful in here. I laid there and I could not stop the rush of wind driving into the side of my face. I was almost ready to give up, It was time.
As I laid on the floor I remembered all the nights I spent alone, all the tingles of depression eating away at me. I hold in my heart the sword and the faith, but it was all breaking like rain clouds dripping all over the earth. I just wished for once in my life that I belonged, there would be other times to do this. I could not control my feelings, they still ate at me.
Finally, in conclusion, I decided against suicide; it was wrong and just a permenant solution to a temporary problem. I believe everybody should realize what I felt that desperate night. Nobody should feel like they belong in a morgue. Never should they want to end their own life.

HEY! Please proofread for stupid errors and contractions.