In every instance I could possibly fathom, bleakness stares through the cracking happyness I
try so hard to maintain. There's always that hand on my shoulder telling me it is over, telling
me I am alone and have always been. No god, nothing.

Nothing absolves the situation, no matter the fortitude. Everything magnifies the problems
I cannot face. The problem seemingly invisible to me, something I don't think I'll let myself
fight away from. So fuck it, invite it and see what happens. I'm no Rome, and I sure wasn't built
in a day so I'll let it all rot down.

The wars will rage on, one after another and famine will occur. Death's from plagues.

I welcome the rising tide, the late days in human history. The grace note of the chorus brings
no one to attest our failing. No one.

So let it rest in peace, for whatever peace this is inside is raging like a war. Zen through absolution.