You remember youth I said to myself; youth was just before this all happened. Now there is a time bomb that threatens to blow up inside my chest. My body conspires to snuff out any last hint of youth, all eyes fixed on the buzzer beater, odds placed on the old ticker in the last race to place, no show, not winning. Slowly you get angry with yourself, and you make empty promises with God, then mad and madder still, and in the end, the body will settle on nothing less than having you actually go mad, stark raving nutters, brain chemicals choked on depression and panic and the ever present thoughts of why me and fuck you, careful with that bottle, put down the axe, Eugene. Finally even my blood is forced to take sides. The Killer Inside wants nothing more than the end of me. Like suicide by cop, the Killer knows if I go,he goes too.