a suicide

Sometimes you can sit real quiet, with your breath real soft and slow. All your thinking narrows, your thoughts pointing to one conclusion. Everything good is pared off, because what are they but superfluous flesh. Down at the bone, into the marrow, that’s where the deep, sad truth lies. When you get like that, real tiny inside yourself, that’s when the truth becomes as sharp as a needle. You stare and you stare, but the more you look outward the more your actual gaze is turned inward. Boring through, you eventually arrive at the core, and it’s not something you can touch or feel, it’s just empty space, an abyss. The longer you gaze, the longer you know. No light ever escapes. Might as well embrace the blackness.

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