Have you ever thought of sand of your life? When the routine, your fistful is hollow through the fingers. Inexorably placing down every grain. One more second has fallen to nowhere.
Have you ever felt your warmth like ice? When you warm life with the breath you draw. But the face of all hopes covered with hoarfrost. Makes you accept the inexorable.
And you know that having turned off this way. You won't dare to take a look back. Only distant image will stay for you. The only waymark. The dim null curdles the fires of your veins. Behind is the glow bleeding out of prostrated flesh.
You are poisoned by despair, pressed upon. by recognition of its own excision and emptiness. A dying sense of existence. Sharpened its razors enough. And you lied bleeding to death. Only the ravens whirled above you whirled and fade away.