anna

if life is one enormous run-on sentence, then death is the pen hovering above the paper, ready to make its move and end the mess with a big finite PERIOD. it doesnt matter if you were in the middle of a word, or if you barely got started at all, because you have no control over when or where or how the sentence ends, and, lets all be honest, a run-on is a run-on. it never really made sense anyway.

there is an end to physical existence in this world, in this life, in the way that we interpret it. someone that we can see and touch and love becomes your friend that died or your dead son or brother; physical presence is replaced by the brains ability to retain and recall, by organic matter decaying in the ground.

whatever or whoever decided it would be fun to fuck with me for the past two months, i hope youre satisfied with this one. leave me the fuck alone.