Paper Prayer

One year, two years, three years, four,
How long it has lasted
With the evil spirit having molded it,
Incubi leaving their indelible marks on my psyche.
I am continually tortured by the art of living,
And living is an art just as dying is one.
I beseech you, oh Mighty Sculpter, in this paper prayer
To end my seemingly perpetual pains
By any means necessary,
And yes, I do mean "by any means."
At this point, death would even be glorious.
If you hear me, please answer my paper prayer.