As inspired by a poem from "The Great War"

"Oh fucking cunt fucking shit Jesus!" he gasped
and then
"Fuck!" he yelled again
as the rose fell from his face
his vision receding down a huge black tunnel
chased by a wave of grey, white emptiness
his life escaping,
first in tears then a stream of blood then a huge white river
from his blackened, huge pupils,
dilated, as if there were not a ray of light in the whole universe.

His hands fell from his arm
the belt, still coiled around like a poisonous viper
the needle, black
in the shadowy grey darkness of the vacant, boarded house,
twisting and contorting in the vein
as if to finally

Finally release that last sting of venom
into his ancient soul
erase that long lonely road
the years of absent longing
of denying oneself
of submitting
of feeling the sublime guilt of that submission

He thinks to himself...
"Why deny one's self?
Why try to be something other than what we are?
Why even try at all?"
"It would have all ended like this anyway"

The last streak of light,
slipped through the boards on the window
the wooden barrier
between his lonely stupid life and the world
so "Fuck!"
he whispered one last time

and "Why?"
and "Why?"
and "Why?"
and "Why?"

these thoughts raced through his mind
but they faded
with the day and the lights
through the boards and the curtain
howling away hungrily
as his soul raced home
far, far away from his body.