Medusa's Letter to Hamlet Laughton, spirited through the mutant underground about December 22nd.  It appears to have both small drops of blood and tears on it.  

"To the light in my dark heart,

As I sit in this foul chamber, fetid as it is with my own person, I can only concentrate on the crumb of hope has been thankfully given me, that which is you, love.

Yesterday a cockroach somehow got in my cell.  Such things are not supposed to happen, but I suspect it crept in when I got my time of "exercise", that long hour where they force me to traverse under the cruel rays of the tortuous sun.  How barbaric!  They never let me go out in the night-time when I might be bathed by the cool subtle tones of the mother moon.  In any case, this cockroach, trapped as I was and as hideous as I am, began to identify with me, I could feel, as I did with it.  We became as one, animalistic base creatures of desperation.  O Lucifer how sad it was!  I could not bear it and after a time had to force my fist upon it, watching it's sad little life drain as I sometimes wish mine would.  It's pulp covered my hand and I relished the feeling of blood, which I sipped up.  O I am reduced to this!  It shames me to write this to you.  You see what I have become!

Yet the thought that one day we may be purely nothing, abject dark stone, waiting for the erosion of time, brightens my evenings as I lay here sleeplessly.  How long has it been since I slept?  I do not know.  I think I am mad as I now dream in waking states.  Yesterday I thought you had visited and took me to your home, where strange granite objects - I must now say rather sexual ones - adorned your dark subterranean dwelling.  You received calls from lawyers and policemen and people in need and yet you unensnared yourself to be with me, and you showed me the dark labyrinths of the human soul.  I was, for once, actually scared.  I found you were an even darker and in some ways more evil soul than I!  Is this true, dear?  Have I had a vision?  Or am I mad?  O I am mad!  I know it!  But often the mad know the truth!

Again, I thank you for your gift of methadone.  I now have a method to get other drugs which somehow mix well, despite the doctors' proud pronouncement that methadone rejects combination.  Perhaps it is my cruel and uncertain biology that defies their orders.  In any case I have found razors, needles, and several chemicals which help pass the time.  I have carved your name into my flesh.  Yet still I am sad much of the time.  Did I tell you that I cried for 24 hours?  I do not remember.  Our last meeting was too brief! Perhaps next time you will stay longer. You must think ill of me.  Just as well, for I am ill.  But I hope you see my heart is lined with sterner stuff and that my ability to continue through every day betrays a strong soul that desires nothing more than perfect love. I had long thought it impossible and resigned to my sad fate.  But now I know such things can happen.  Or am I again deceived?  Will I be disappointed and will it all end badly?  Perhaps.  Yet for now I wrap myself in sweet deception, if that be it, and tell myself that you care. 

But you must!  You've visited twice now, not counting the time you came "on business" with your friends.

Please write me by passing this through the same channel you've received it.  I would cherish your letters.  If they are short, I will carve them in small marks across my body, immortalizing your words, for when I turn to stone they will be there!  O Delight!  O Ecstasy!  O Rapture!

But now I look down at my cell, at the bloody mark where the cockroach is.  Am I so foul?  O Fate!  O Darkness!  O Lucifer Morningstar!

Who is my friend?

I do not know!  Is this sad?  Or am I making it sad?  Am I my own worst enemy?  Say it is not so!

Until we again communicate,

Let me be your muse,

Andrea d'Ennui - sealed and stamped, many times over, with my very blood"