"Every living creature dies alone" --Gramma Death
there are so many many holes...i feel my throat fade to a whisper, and i am afraid. afraid of this world, and of the next, no matter where i go, i am unsafe. all these holes have made me transparent...i want to fill them all with warm steel. be it a gun, be it a blade, any such thing will do....my whisper fades to thought, and all eternity is felt in twelve lonely minutes. Concious time, and unconcious time.....one minute can seem like a million years when the human brain ceases to exist. those twelve minutes after i die will be my heaven....as this is my hell. my hell...and mine alone. alone.....
My thought fades to silence....
My thought fades to silence....