I’ve always been scared of dying, not anymore, and that’s what scares me the most
There use to be the fear of the unknown, will I see that light or will it just be dark. Do I get to announce my plight to the gods, or simply fade away into the fog. I’d like to meet the maker, if that’s what he’s called, he must of missed something in the process, dropped in the wrong part. Look at me, look at what you’ve made, do you feel pride or indifference at the thought. I doubt there is any way, any way at all, that one with such omnipotent potential can fuck it up so gall.
So here I stand, me alone, one hand gripping on, the other letting go, do I fall into your realm and see if you exist, or do I I keep fighting on with my one bare fist