The sky is ink-black, the moon is a paper cut-out from a bad b&w movie and the fog covers the sea like the thang huging it's newly sunken son.

I'm thirsty yet dare not drink, for the only cup that I have siped of tonight is the dark goblet of depression, it's taste still vile and bitter in my mouth.

I feel like the razor must feel, when it's cut has already wanished, both useless and expendable, yet I sence this urgency, creeping soundlessly and hidden in the torn fabric of reality.

The dark and gloomy cavern that holds my ego captive blackens as my shadow looms over it, watching, waiting hungerly.

I'm sick of all the bullshit that has burrowed it's way trough my skin over all these years, yet do not lift a finger when memories flicker,
for I am equaly as tired.

Yet I still go on, still draw breath, still pump blood trough this trap of flesh, for I know the day will eventualy come, it's dawn both welcome and blinding.

But for now, I'm tired, and tired I will remain, at least for a little while while…..