My voice is coming from inside this box. Thats why it strikes your ear askew. Brim full and empty, almost gone, its syllables never sound, but resound merely.
Why did this nightmare continue? Nothing held the slightest allure for me, but I was incapable of rest. Often I thought of the grave and might have purchased a how-to book on mercy killing, had the thought of reading it not been too painful. How I longed to evaporate!