While I am still here…

Another epinephrine surge, un-directed, un-articulated. Innate. Cruising through the pipelines, un-metabolized and un-dissipated. Scribbling through the virtual; lest we derail another train of thought harboring a harbinger of inevitable-nothingness-esque payload.

Like a destined anvil, you cushion the hammer-fall.

Scourge of existence.




There is an intricate noose which is slipping ever so slightly around our lives.

Doesn’t matter what you do; you may merely decelerate it but never extricate.

It’s tightening.