One Option Beyond the Inevitable
This is a running start without legs. The whole thing is crumbling like ghost cookies – the early promise, the wavering illusion, the one-eyed hope of a bright future. Rained-out happiness.
However you arrange it, dress it, pretend to understand it, the more tangled it gets in the barbwire of time. Things cease to rhyme and a gray silence closes in from all sides, like an ocean. But you keep on doing what you’ve always done until you no longer know what that was, or what you thought it was, whatever it was.
Your routine gets whittled to shavings. A shrinking repetition.
You either shut the door or let it ebb away. Suicide no longer seems outrageous. It no longer matters what anyone thinks.
This is something no one knows until they get there.
I pick up my pen and make a final declaration.