I Didn't Know What I Was Doing

So Much Working, Reading, Thinking, Living To Do. A Lifetime Is Not Long Enough. Nor Youth To Old Age Long Enough. Immortality And Permanence Be Damned. Sure I Want Them, But They Are Nonexistent, And Won't Matter When I Rot Underground. All I Want To Say Is: I Made The Best Of A Mediocre Job. It Was A Good Fight While It Lasted. And So Life Goes.

I Must Not Be Selfless: Develop A Sense Of Self. A Solidness That Can't Be Attacked.

My Flesh Winced, In Cowardice, From Such A Death.

God, Is This All It Is, The Ricocheting Down The Corridor Of Laughter And Tears? Of Self-worship And Self-loathing? Of Glory And Disgust?

The Silence Drew Off, Baring The Pebbles And Shells And All The Tatty Wreckage Of My Life.