Paraphrase I wish that I could just die. Why did God make suicide a sin?! Life is so pointless to me now.

There is no more reason to live. Life is like a garden that, when left unweeded, is overtaken by the weeds. This is unbelievable! My father has been dead two months, no, not even two months. He was the most excellent kind to ever rule, far better than my uncle. My father like a god, and my uncle like a beast! Father was to loving towards my mother/ So much that he kept the winds from hurting my mothers face by powerful gusts of wind. Why am I cursed by remembering this? She would be o his arm constantly, like the more she was with him , even the more she wanted to b e by his side. She acted like she couldnt exist without him! Yet, within a month of my fathers, her true loves death, she remarried. I cant think of this! Women are so weak! She even married before she took off her shoes she wore to the funeral. Even an animal would mourn the loss of a mate longer than she. She married my uncle. My uncle!! My fathers brother! He is to my father like I am to the great Hercules. He does not, nor will ever measure up to my father. She remarried before her tears from my fathers funeral were dry. She jumped so quickly into incest! How repulsive! This is not good, and nothing good will ever come out of it. I must let my heart break from this in silence since no one in the kingdom will disagree with my uncle, who I will never view as the true king of this kingdom! I must not speak my true feelings to anyone

Hamlets First Soliloquy (Act 1, scene 2, lines 133-164) Original Text Oh, that this too, too sullied flesh would melt, Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew, Or that the Everlasting had not fixed His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God, God! How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable Seem to me all the uses of this world! Fie on t, ah fie! 'Tis an unweeded garden That grows to seed. Things rank and gross in nature Possess it merely. That it should come to this. But two months deadnay, not so much, not two. So excellent a king, that was to this Hyperion to a satyr. So loving to my mother That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly.Heaven and earth, Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him As if increase of appetite had grown By what it fed on, and yet, within a month Let me not think on t. Frailty, thy name is woman! A little month, or ere those shoes were old With which she followed my poor fathers body, Like Niobe, all tears. Why she, even she O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason Would have mourned longer!married with my uncle, My fathers brother, but no more like my father Than I to Hercules. Within a month, Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing in her galld eyes, She married. O most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! It is not nor it cannot come to good, But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue.