Excavate the ancient layers of an old man's mind to find a slowly dying lifetime of sadness cracks and unglad blackish scars inside the ill mental earth in question.
Pull up the blinds from tired eyes and peer through a screen full of holes into a soul that's quietly wavering on the edge,
silently weeping with forever pain.
Nothing here is whole anymore and all of it has been a whole lot of hell like that for years now I'd say.
Can't actually recall how it got that bad,
and it can't be good that so many of the memories have gone missing into the mist of long since forgotten time disinterested.
Busted up days and months and decades,
all suffocating in sticky graying cobwebs and a big thick trashstack of uncallow apathy.
The narrative is broken at best incoherent at worst,
with a darkly terminal arc.
Through all the din of white lie noise and tinnitus like crying sirens only one voice comes out clear,
it is the edge with an invitation to walk right up to it and fucking over,
it's gonna be a blast man I promise you that.
All other paths are a hard pass and none seems a solid safe way to wander save this one,
and thus this is the one that shall be examined and explored as a potential exit.
…
Hey how've you been?
she said.
And he said
Good,
but what he failed to say was I feel like I'm cracking, and
I think I'm on the edge right now, and
the mountains are calling and I must go find a cliff.
…
Rest in peace my friend—
I wish you hadn't but you did,
and that's that,
and it is what it is,
and you will be missed in the neverending between now and whenever we join you.