I believe in rot.
I believe in bones, in withering organs, in snapped sinews. I believe in the irony of life that made our smiles a flaunting of our skeletons, an omen of the grave, and I believe in the eternal nothingness that awaits me when at last I will close my eyelids on a long-expected pain. I know the morgues and the proceedings in black and the poetic epitaphs and I know them all to be crutches for the living, so they may accept death, extinction, perdition — loved ones first, and then the self, because your turn will come just like mine. Delusions : ghosts, monsters, nightmares, dreams, words, fears. A permission to live for nothing until you’re no more.