I once thought to kill myself so that I would no longer wander through a fog such as this. How could it be any greater crime than that which I have already faced, committed, failed to undo? Yet I am a coward. I have written the truth on this page. Cowardice, sickly yellow thing, I found you like worms writhing beneath an overturned rock—I peeled back my self and beheld you at my core where a shining soul should have been.
