When the piercing pain inside overshadows
the fear of death, it’s easier to step
into the unthinkable. Depression’s
dark tendrils blind reason, serotonin
depleted, amygdale’s protective
fear forgotten. Impulse removes the choices,
the moments of second thought regret
before the blinding flash that precedes
cold emptiness of darkness that awaits.
Is it the uncertainty of ending
or disappointment that there is nothing
after this? Who is right? Who is wrong?
As vibrant, creative being becomes
lifeless goo, the world will never know.
