How ill-fated I be, lying here almost dead, waiting and waiting for the end of time!

How stupid I am, waiting here past death, searching futilely to make non-poetic prose rhyme!

Why must I condemn myself thus, to follow in the footsteps of Siegfried and Roy!

And who are they anyway, I do not know; I am simply engaging in a fruitless ploy!

And yet, and yet, I am still here today.

What the hell!

'Tis not fair, I say; the absurdity of it!

The utter absurdity of fruitless compassion, that wakes every morning and sleeps every night!

The strangeness beyond that continues to come here, and waiting and waiting to see the last fight!

But no, I tell myself; and my friend beside me agrees.

The problem, I think, is that I am he and he is me.

We are but one, he says, and I nod.

I are you, and you am I, and yet we are two and I am a god.

And you are not, I say, continuing my thought.

But what I have done! I have left him to die!

The utter stupidity of it strikes me like lye!

I find myself shaking, the horror! the horror!

The unending quake of disaster looms near.

And I step back, shaking, and I quake in fear.

What has happened? I say, but I hear no reply.

For my friend has already left me and gone somewhere to die!

What foul atrocities await me, I do not know.

But I know that there is another place for me to go.

And there I will find myself shaking in fear.

And I will ask myself what I hold dear.

The pain of the moment strikes me like this.

There is nothing beyond this that makes me believe.

There is nothing throughout this that will make me see.

The only thing that exists is me and me.

I find myself shaking at the edge of the world.

I know I am not here, for myself I have hurled.

I am lost in a quandary, bespoken of truth.

And yet there is only one thing more to say.

The night is ending, and soon comes the day.

I step off the cliff, and fall, to fly away.