My End

Sometimes, late at night, I like to sit outside and think. Light up a cigarette and just stare into the empty void I've come to see as my being. Thinking, why? Why am I here? What's my purpose? I have nothing to do, nothing to strive for. I feel depressed. I've forgotten about the cigarette. The burnt out ashes cling halfway to the end. Its how I think about my hopes and dreams. Crushed through time, clinging to the edge of my weary existence. I'm tired, so tired. From what? I myself don't even know. I feel ashamed of myself. Such dreams, and I am unable to bring myself to fulfil them, I feel broken. I know what to do and can't bring myself to muster the energy to do it. Do WHAT? I'm confused. I feel alone. When the rain starts I can't bring myself to move. Sitting in the panicking drops of water makes me want to cry!

I WANT TO DIE!

I cant do this anymore! DO WHAT! DO WHAT! I'm through. I'm done. I see myself raise a blade to my throat. I feel the cold, reassuring steel pressed against the warm flesh beneath its purposed edge. Even he has a purpose. But, I can NOT DO IT. I'm a COWARD! I vaguely hear my end clash onto the wet stone. NO! I am not a coward! I must go on! I must relight my purpose! I raise my lighter to reignite my cigarette.