When the End Comes
Where do we truly exist, if not in the minds of others? Flesh grows weak, and frail, and dies away, returning to the nothing it always was. Each passing heartbeat is a heartbeat lost to the void of time. Memory is the only legacy, memory of the crimson words I have spilt. Will I leave anything behind?
When the end comes, will you remember? Will you recall, who I was, before the fall? Or am I just another nameless, a convenience of eventual discard, here, and gone, and no matter? Does it matter? I don’t suppose. No, don’t try to flatter me, with fanciful prose. I’d rather hear it straight, and to the point. I want the truth, before I meet the last moment, and succumb to fate. Always been a sucker, ever naïve, but I suppose that’s not too much of a fault. Who could conceive, after all, that the trip would come to such a halt. I should have done it better, but I was never meant to stick to the letter of the law. I had to break a few rules, bones, hearts, to see all I saw. So soon, so much left undone. Fate must be under the gun, rushing forward, on a deadline, servant to time. Again that pain is starting up in my chest, coming and going, at a petty god’s behest. Pain, as my body struggles to hold out, to hold on. Still it doesn’t compare. A greater agony wracks my soul. I can feel my sanity tear free, yet I’m helpless, too weak to do much but swear and curse. Curse the damnation that’s only starting, and weep at the oncoming parting from everything, and everyone, I love. But I want to know, now, before I go. And then I want the vow, swear it’s the truth, tell me its so. When the flow finally stops, and my words cease to roll under your eyes, when the end comes, and the conduit dies, will you remember?
Return
