Peripheral Corrosion

It was as if the wind itself breathed life into me, as I stared out across a sprawling valley atop a series of rocks that take a sharp drop not more than a foot in front of me. Every vessel of blood within my veins gushed ferociously, circulating through my organs and tense muscles. For the first time in years, I felt as if there was something more to life than what I had been obligated to pursue. Through my trials, I've seen exile, turmoil, and even a few instances of what others would presume to be triumph. None, however, have brought even an ounce of the sensation that this cliff side has. It took me twenty-six years to figure out that elation and ecstasy wasn't in the form of pills or a needle, it was inches away from my inevitable death.

The sickeningly beautiful feeling that echoed throughout my inner-self screamed and wretched beneath my skin, bellowing to release itself unto the world. Before, it was merely critiquing and laughing at every mistake I let corrode my existence, allowing it to find its disgusting way into every nook and crevice that scarred me. But rather than washing it away, I paraded around and waved it like a flag, insisting that my flaws were my own, something that defined who I was as a creature. Look at me, world. I'm the collective work of every sycophantic, eccentric prick that took it upon themselves to wreak havoc upon this world. 

That feeling didn't last very long, as I soon realized that while they were most certainly flaws, they were still attributed to others. Acting out, merely because someone entered our lives just to fuck them up, seemed hollow and pathetic. I sought out to be my own man, someone uniquely horrifying and destructive. Perhaps I've sought out my own identity for so long that the pursuit in and of itself has become a product of someone, for if nothing was there to inspire me, would I have ever started my search for change?

It's all just a game. Regardless of whether or not we choose to play, we're apart of it. There's no longer such a thing as a thought birthed from genuine self-awareness. Everyone in this world has grown up to enjoy and loathe certain things because of their environment. Family, friends, and even random people in the same city, all have an impact on us. From a pat on the back, to a disgusted grimace, everything has a reaction that we soak up and react to. This happens well before we even realize the power others hold over us.

All of that leads me to where I am right now, moments away from my death. Since there is no escaping the game through my existence, I can only choose to ignore the game, and take my own life. A single step over the edge, and the dice will forever remain still. No more pieces to move, and no more cards to draw. 

It's so cold and burdensome, this windchill lashing at my face.