I serve no purpose but to call down these curses. I follow no path save the drive towards oblivion, cruelty the only kindnesses allowed. The days bend and bend, falling off the plot of continuity, scaling the cliffs that memory leaves behind. Flowers dying in the scenery, dust and death clotting every single breath. No side left that will stay mine, no battle that won't give way to butchery. Sickness the only steady medicine, madness the only description that sticks.
Chase your tail, call down the storm, pray whatever prayers spill from your mouth. Your belief and your reason are both bound to fail. Take what comfort you can in that you never see it coming. Take what solace you can that no-one stays consoled for long. Happiness is an adaptive response to the doom that is all that is certain. Depression the mistake of having your eyes open too long. That you will outlive me is almost certain. That my side will die with me certainty itself.
My own mood serves only to anoint me. I am this one that doesn't matter. I am this one that always minds. A head full of murder, a heart full of woe. Useless save to cull and bleed. Useless save to burn it all to the ground. Depression or elation, it is a case of elevated importance. Happy or sad, I think too much of myself. Happy or sad, I am alone with my own mistakes. The day burns down and nothing is the better. Everything so bad, though nothing much has changed. You are right if you would tell me I should end it. If I told you much the same, I would not be far from wrong.