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Description
Innocence shatters. Identity vanishes. Wishes, dreams, wants, needs, obligations all cease. And I'm left with one heavily burning question: What is me? I stare, purportedly at the sun, actually at the invisible wind whipping the frayed surfaces of Time, and contemplate the answers to my inquiry. In my last few moments, when I still have a grasp on me and my mind and my sanity and my views and my opinions and my phobias and my faults, I choose not to marvel at the sanctity of life (my life was never sacred), not to beg God for forgiveness (I have no god), not to futilely reach for aid (no one ever aids me), but instead to search for the truth. Little else ever mattered to me; friends may go, family may die, love may fade, Nature may wither, the world may stop, but for all that, there is a personal truth that trumps all. Everything and everyone has one. So what is mine? Why can I not understand something so intrinsically simple? Where do my answers lie? In enlightenment, perhaps? In the strength of another? In confidence and success, maybe? Or from faith in an almighty entity? Regardless, I am ending here, so I may as well just accept that and let the madness crescendo to a forte, let the zenith of my existence take precedent, then let it fall from the grandeur of its height like a fallen angel: bright, glorious, once powerful but now diminishing. Apollo has run his course, and I am left here, alone. But that's okay; I wouldn't have expected anything more… or less.

Description
Innocence shatters. Identity vanishes. Wishes, dreams, wants, needs, obligations all cease. And I'm left with one heavily burning question: What is me? I stare, purportedly at the sun, actually at the invisible wind whipping the frayed surfaces of Time, and contemplate the answers to my inquiry. In my last few moments, when I still have a grasp on me and my mind and my sanity and my views and my opinions and my phobias and my faults, I choose not to marvel at the sanctity of life (my life was never sacred), not to beg God for forgiveness (I have no god), not to futilely reach for aid (no one ever aids me), but instead to search for the truth. Little else ever mattered to me; friends may go, family may die, love may fade, Nature may wither, the world may stop, but for all that, there is a personal truth that trumps all. Everything and everyone has one. So what is mine? Why can I not understand something so intrinsically simple? Where do my answers lie? In enlightenment, perhaps? In the strength of another? In confidence and success, maybe? Or from faith in an almighty entity? Regardless, I am ending here, so I may as well just accept that and let the madness crescendo to a forte, let the zenith of my existence take precedent, then let it fall from the grandeur of its height like a fallen angel: bright, glorious, once powerful but now diminishing. Apollo has run his course, and I am left here, alone. But that's okay; I wouldn't have expected anything more… or less.