Looking into the Lonely Basin

Shot of vodka to the head.

Muses.

Quietly-like before the flickering screen.

The paths taken that lead to this point. As seasons pass before him. The river of time runs on... Even as he stands on the bank. All journeys but have one end. Death.

Numb.

As the alcohol takes over... Tears falls. But thats okay. Thats alright. That is merely the alcohol. It allows him release, which he would otherwise store. Keeping it buried, deep within. Likely a tumour. A cancer... Which will burn from within and eats him alive.

A clear mind is not what is needed. Regret do not come for one who lives his life with none. Not at this point, not at this moment, not ever. Though a flicker of it lingers, like the warm glow of a fine wine... The taste it leaves in his mouth... The aroma...

Solitude.

Man is born alone. He lives alone. And dies alone. Anon.