I work all day and get half drunk at night. Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare. In time, the curtain-edges will grow light. Till then I see what's always really there: unresting death. The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse, the good not done, the love not given, time torn off unused. But at the total emptiness forever, the sure extinction that we travel to, and shall be lost in always. Not to be here, not to be anywhere, and soon. Nothing more terrible, nothing more true. This is ...