Tuesday, June 27, 2017

The Walls Are Closing In

I woke up one morning and bumped my head against the ceiling. I don't remember when exactly this was, because every morning I'm still bruising my noggin on the damn thing. I guess what I'm saying is I've arrived at a point in my life where I feel like I'm in that trash compactor aboard the Death Star; the walls are closing in, there's nowhere to go, and the inevitable end will be messy and terrible. The only "if" seeming to factor into this grim scenario is whether my doom be protracted or not, and how agonizingly long if so.