I have a friend I call,
When I've bored myself to tears.
And we talk until we think we might just kill ourselves.
The end.
The end of the road. The end of the journey. The final chapter.
The end.
This all started as a Eulogy. A farewell. The end was always coming. I could feel it. I could feel myself giving in, more and more each day. I could feel the way the days no longer mattered. Where the morning came and I was less a part of it. Now it's over. One day after another, it got worse.
Today it broke.
I can't wake up one more day, with a gaping hole in my chest. I can't wake up one more day, screaming and crying and feeling like that hole is going to consume me. It has. There's nothing left but a rotting core stuck deep in the skeleton of what's left of me.
It's time.
And I have this dream where I'm screaming underwater,
While my friends are all waving from the shore.
And I don't need you to tell me what that means,
I don't believe in that stuff anymore.
The thing about Eulogies is this: they're read at a funeral. The Eulogy is over.
The Funeral has begun.
