Every single day, the years do burn. Slapped across the concrete – no matter how much I scream, I will not be heard.
On days in which I can’t bring myself to get up out of bed, the demons inside my head often tell me I’d be better off dead.
Silk on the rise, it’s all down from here. At least when you’ve hit rock bottom, there is nothing left to loose or fear. It can’t get any worse or lower than this – not even in the deepest, darkest ocean trench. My soul feels heavy and empty, too – I’m half the man I used to be, and long past abused.
Stuck and tired in old leather boots, I do not believe that there is any option I have left to choose. “Lighter cave, lighter cave! There’s more to this emptiness!” – the old man cries. But the scarlet letter in my pocket says there is nothing left for me to do, but die.
