And there it is, the glaring cliff of realisation threateningly looking up into your cold dead eyes
A morbidly experienced activity of counting those who you trust draws on a grimly found zero, old friends drifted into the void of time as close family are there but ever drawn into their own increasingly busy lives, then you; the keeper of secrets, betrayer of self and ultimately in that damning realm of depressive pain; the only one walking by your side
A massed horde of faces crowding you every day only sees the illusive front stonily protecting whatever it is you have become, their idea of your reality pathetically just a myriad of features you clinically cut into shapes and appropriate size to appease their simple preconceptions enforced over time
Now secured in the prison safe facility that is the toxic refuge you bitterly call home, a sole chair facing the barred windows and a single glass cast idle in the sink, now swigging straight from the bottle labelled life with not so much as an attempt at feigning concern you see the only two options which cursedly remain; which side of the head to rest the barrel of the gun and when to shoot
The ghostly whisper of a thought hanging in the gun smoke; will they see the next fatal events as a mercy killing or self-inflicted wounds, will anyone care!