Depression

[Pagey]

The fucking vein won't stop pulsing, and the canyon extends at my feet. Deep, raw, yet sullied by lack of abandon, it begs for justice and payback and extends its computing arms up to me, it calls my name, over and over again, til I'm pressing my palms against that popping vein and I'm screaming to drown the calls out. And then silence. It isn't better. It's pure, indestructible emptiness and it fills the canyon with exponential pride at its achievement. It laughs, drops of derision bouncing off its filed edges and drowning me in empty dreams. Dreams which will remind me of nothing but the finality of the gulf and the black light beyond; The black light that leads to the endless ocean, the one where the dream dies and doesn't return.