Sandpaper the boards of reason.
I wish for the end to come, to lay me down where the grass is greener. To hurry along its path of morbid order. To place its grisly hand upon my head and imprint upon me the mark for which I was made. A feral state I shall return, to bite and claw and snarl. Regressing through the stages that made me "me", Break down even the simplest of organized life; so that I made be rebuilt as a machination once again. Whirring parts and spinning gears, clothed in flesh and cloaked in fear all wrapped around a core of hate and legendary animosity. These things shall end and begin again as the un-maker stirs in the bowels of despair yet again, to start the beginning of the end.