old man, i warn you against reading this if you're in a mood. it might inspire you to do something rash, if you haven't already.

it exists within a particular frame. an escape, like sleep for fatigue.

in an impulsive way, suicide has no moral implications. it is selfish, clearly; loved ones would be heartbroken. but as everyone who has 'lost' a loved one knows, eventually you need to get over it.

[ poetry removed... ]

at the age of fourteen, a promise: to end things after ten years if no purpose for continuing had been found. now, a purpose seems to have bubbled up from the cauldron of mixed intentions and stirred emotions.

just in time, maybe.

upon close inspection, actions are still at odds with visions -- history up to this moment will not produce the promised future. all this listening and the words still come out wrong. thoughts remain confused, movements are more circular than ever.

death can exist as a perfect measure. for someone who desires to feel most alive, carving a shorter yardstick takes a stronger feeling than most people are willing to admit.