It is well past the midnight hour and the contemplation of demise is hard to push away. It is not meant to imply suicide at all, but demise in general. The demise of everything currently known to the self I possess, the beliefs latterly held strong, the loves once felt, the demise of being in general. Not the need or want of the demise, as suicides often are, but the terrifyingly impending tear away of everything whether the desire for it to be taken away is present or not. It’s often in these late into the night, early into the morning hours that I contemplate demise. It is almost as though I cannot help my mind from thinking of such tragedies.  I sometimes wonder why this is, but I only ever come away empty handed, answerless.

The empty hours tick by and by, and I cannot keep a hold of anything except this drowsy feeling. As tired as I can be, I cannot close my eyes and sleep. I find no solace in these sheets, behind my pale eyelids lie a nightmarish existence. My mind is fond of only ever creating a Hellish reverie, this is where I am left at: Hell.