The light is fading, the audience has left, and I'm insisting that the play is just getting started.
I am an object of desire, a blinding prism of self-hatred. Consecrated by a false reality.
Catatonic in the face of time. I lose myself to these ever-flowing sands. Trapped in a comatose of the yester-years of adolescence. I have sought out tranquility and she eluded me at every step. I have trekked far from my domicile across this vast western delusion. Failure welcomed me to my snowy peak with open arms, I accepted her embrace and in it, I wept. The clock struck twenty-eight past nine, twilight has arrived in all her wickedness and patience. The narcissistic delusions revealed for all their infantile naivety.
The jovial wells have all but ran dry, allowing for the ingress to the abyss below.
Nothingness is timeless.