The De-Canonization of St. Death

Well cats and kittens, I thought long and hard(around 3 minutes) about what to post for today, and I've decided that perhaps we should all huddle 'round the headstone for story time. I've written a few introductory paragraphs to what I hope will turn into a half-way decent short story in the high tradition of the 'mad confession'. In case you have yet to discover this fact, we undead are huge fans of the melodramatic. I'd love to hear thoughts, comments, praise, criticism, or absolute lunatic babbling. Anything but silence. If you want to hear more of the story, SAY SO.
That being said, I submit for the approval of the midnight....Er, I mean, I give you:

The De-Canonization of St. Death

    It is entirely possible that my story is not worth telling. I've often asked myself if it's even worth remembering, but, sadly, that is not within my control. As with any story, I ought to begin at the beginning, though I could begin with the end and work my way back for effect. To be perfectly honest, I don't think it will make a difference either way. My memory has been somewhat augmented by a series of desperate and failed attempts at forgetting: liquor, narcotics, strange and exotic debaucheries invented for the sole purpose of escaping reality. Yes, every attempt only served to bring the horror into greater relief.

    I do not wish to share with you my experiences. To blacken the innocence of my fellow man by damning him to the knowledge of such evil seems a crime of a kind with my darkest sins. Yet any discipline, any control I maintain over my own actions is diminishing momently. There is a beast battering the walls of my soul and he will not be detained.

    Here I sit in the comfort of my study, the friendly embrace of my well-worn chair offering no longer the solace I have always found between it's massive arms. Though the air about her portrait is heavy with incense and the smoke moves sensually in the candlelight, as though imbued with some feminine intelligence, I find no pleasure, no quickening of the blood. Youth has long since abandoned me and rightfully so. My books keep a watchful eye over me, yet I have no sense of security. Here I sit to tell you of a horror of infinite magnitude, and I will not find peace until I share with you my curse.