Dry, the life you have supplied has run out. So insufficient, stupidly I have let the remnants lead me this far.
Is this the breaking point? Is this where the string holding me together suddenly snaps, dismembering
My whole being? Where the car leaves the road? Is all recourse gone? All these questions flowing through
My head, abundant as the air we breathe, ignorant as the life’s we lead. To put it simply, I cannot answer these questions. Is it possible to know what is behind a door, in which you haven’t entered. Of course pondering the fact dry could be numerous things, could it be? The torpid personalities behind the radiant
Mask’s at the masquerades displaying their phoniness to the world? Maybe, just maybe, dry could be
Lingering on suffocating memories. But as I think about it dry is the end of life isn’t that how we leave?