Silence. Everything revolves around my silence, the world has stopped; drawing in its breath.
The dramatics, the feeling. There'll be no carrying on, I've met my end, the final word. My final day, and last draw of breath. The old, rhythmic, heart in my chest struggles; it's feeble attempt at living.
Why should it try, when all I want is it to stop? To stop my pain, to fail and fade away.
Who knows. Maybe there will be a better life; maybe I'll gain infinite happiness. But I don't think so.
Not for the sins, the sad piano background music, falling into its place behind me as I leave.
Finally, I'm floating. Finally I'm free. I had to wait my whole life, no matter how short, for this feeling. My final numbness.
It seems that I've finally met my end. And all I'm thinking is "Thank God."
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