Here's to a time when
throat unclenched,
snoring deeply and without fear of reproach,
you'll fall asleep in the arms of a Past returned anew.

Make yourself worthy of her,
cherish her, revel in her smooth soft skin Against your skin, her raw youth flooding the mornings,
sweetening your porridge, darkening your coffee.

Here's to a day
when all the clichés come alive
just for you.

Here's to nothing, to Oblivion:
the greatest gift of all.

Here's to strength and courage and patience-
yes, yes, yes, all of that crap, and then some-
so you can climb and climb and
never forget to climb
pointlessly
back to where you were,
Which of course was no one's idea
of a peak.

What then? SERIOUSLY. What then?
Well climb, climb, climb, keep climbing every time you fall-
patiently, relentlessly,
towards some distant point of rest.
A point from which you won't fall immediately into the abyss, bravissimo!
Some distant, worthy, cloud-obscured point
of rest, so plant your
Feet on it.

What then? Breathe deeply, in the fullness of life. Then shoot yourself
cleanly in the head,
Smile...
Om shantih shantih shantih.