The sun is digging through your eyelids, relentlessly trying to pry them open. I guess you’re not dead just yet. There is no one left to give your life any meaning, for you’ve chased them all so very far away. But I can’t help but wonder if sometimes you think about changing, think about the days where it will be possible to keep yourself living without injecting momentary fillers into your veins to mask the holes you’ve created in your heart.

So if the thought happens to tamper your at your skull, let it in. I suppose one day your mind will meet the gravity pulling your bones into the ground. Maybe this will always be one of your demons you’ll have to face? And so I’ll ask you, and you’ll say you’re not ready for that today. No, it’s never today. I’m slipping through your life like sand through a sieve, and you still have yet to notice.