And perhaps there is none, no morrow anymore, for one who has waited so long for it in vain. And perhaps he has come to that stage of his instant when to live is to wander the last of the living in the depths of an instant without bounds, where the light never changes and the wrecks all look alike. Bluer scarcely than white of egg the eyes stare into the space before them, namely the fullness of the great deep and unchanging calm. But at long intervals they close, with the gentle suddenness of flesh that tightens, often without anger, and closes on itself.
Im dying everydayMy breakfast are cigarettes and coffeeMy lunch is depressionMy snacks are regretsMy dinner are memories and angerMy night is non stoping tearsSleep is my deathWaking up the next day and here we go again dying everyday
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Im dying everydayMy breakfast are cigarettes and coffeeMy lunch is depressionMy snacks are regretsMy dinner are memories and angerMy night is non stoping tearsSleep is my deathWaking up the next day and here we go again dying everyday
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