Whilst the world slowly turns to slumber, the death of my human character shudders giving thought to the limited, fallible potential of a characteristic: the persona. Now that pain and anxiety is rampant and exceedingly in highest gear, it's time to move on to the grander, much more elevating commotion in motion.
Dark, darker, darkest, there is no difference. All hurts the same. Pain, everlasting, lingering. Pain, day and night. The hours are uncertain. Anything can happen now. Thinking about it hurts. Truth is unreliable. The romance is dead. My heart, it is lost. Unrecoverable, hateful, distrusting. Wishful, perhaps, but I have lost everything before and survived still. This one was special. So special. Embittered, the tip of my tongue tastes. The flavour of my life. Cuisine of kitchens unwanted. It burns, to the heart. I do not understand. I do not understand.