For the first time words did not suffice. Not a sentence or any meaningful conjunction of my thoughts could repress this unnatural urge that wants to take over my body and rip me in half. Tear down the walls and shake me down to my core. Allow all the sentiments to overflow. Just thinking about it makes me feel alive. It feels better than this agony of a repressed existence. Locking with shackles my heart in a cage so it won’t break when I've killed it already by taking it away from life.

"What's the point of living if you can't be free?"

Thoughts at the top of the stairs

In my youth I desired death.

Every cigarette brought me closer.

Living seemed too monotonous.

I held the bud, inhaled the toxic fume disguised with menthol.

I licked my lips, moisture for a dry soul.

I ponder how within more age you tend to grasp for life.

How wrinkled hands use their frails energies to clench to something that is inevitably doomed.

Weak memories of what one day passed, of what seem important.

I refuse to spend treacherous hours clinging when in the end, like all, I shall fall.

It is not a frightful fall, why should death be frowned upon?

Why the fear of the unknown must drive souls to go mad?

I simply live.

I simply breathe.

I simply am.

I just smoke my cigarette and smile.

Let the fumes take away my worries and await the day I fall.

C.D.C.