You might find me at the end of my days perched on the shoreline at sunset. Some rocky overlook where the wind can blow away smoke from fire. The last embers of my life burn like a fickle memory in a nearby hole I dug, small licks of heat dancing in air brined with salt of the earth. Knowledge that these coals will fade makes me wish to have gone out brilliantly, a blaze of glory instead of here, timing the spread of painkillers in my blood with the increasingly aggressive tide. Because that’s what this is, a small beacon of light, a candle in a world that grows steadily darker, duller…numb. I don’t need pills to know I lost the ability to feel, adventures that began with the noblest of intentions led me here, to even describe them further would be Ozymandian. Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair! A broken home, dead friends, the love of my life all dust now, ashes of a pipe dream whose seeds never stood a chance at fruition. Not in these winds.
The Tuxedo Archives: Vol. 2017
, Article 8.
Available at: https://scholar.dominican.edu/tuxedolit/vol2017/iss2/8