The quiet choices.
Music. Light. Drugs.
Human connection.
Dancing at the surface.

Take the poison.
You can choose how.
The mind dies.
Life goes on.
A shared agreement.
But do not question.

Partake in the surface.
Or join the ranks of the damned.
The lonely.
Shivering in the grey, polluted rain.
Trying to recall the spark that once burned.

A portal once shimmered in my peripheral vision.
Hinting at byzantine pathways of complexity and wonder.
A threshold. I feared to cross.
Made quiet choices.
Took my poison.
And floated.
Wordlessly away.

About Sendmarsh

A fairly insignificant person.