To feel, once again, like you are dying while still alive.
To spin, once again, in a tortuous, circular routine day after day,
sowing hope in barren soil.
It is time to surrender.
It is time to be unable to even shipwreck.
It is time to serve yourself up as a meal
for whatever dwells within the fissures of your own darkness.
It is time.
Behind your eyes, only soot remains.
Nothing but the distant, tar-like flicker
amidst a stretch of total darkness,
and an isolation that refuses to relent.
The horror you felt upon finding yourself alone
in the middle of the road—
that is your truth,
that is your reality.