Birth.

From nothing to something, out of the void and into the world.

The silence would echo but the noise is now deafening.

Life.

Chase highs and kill yourself in stylish new manners.

The tires screech as you break at the edge of the cliff. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Death.

You’re lucky if a single person is by your side, most don’t have that luxury.

A gala where the worm is the guest of honor, empty tables abound.