BYOB

Head spun off a nightmare that never sleeps, tales that never end, whispers that never silence, and in the midst of it all was that reality was even way worse. How do you live off of two fatiguing torments? The simple answer to this is that you do not, or you wish you do not, or you would rather not, or just be blown off the face of the earth.

A liar walks by a wooden stick. He picks it up and says, "You'll do fine as a walking cane." So he uses it to soften the blow on his foot, and not sooner than ten seconds, it snaps. He fell dramatically on the stake, impaling him, causing a lot of bleeding, and eventually, death.

Now I told you he was a liar, did I, but did he actually lie? Or did the wooden stick lie? But the wooden stick is an inanimate object picked up on the floor randomly. So was it nature? Serendipity? Luck? The folly of man? The unfortunate circumstance of being? What caused his downfall? What is it about descriptive words that make it all seem so easily categorical?