Epicenter کے بول

I have been crawling for countless days now. Where has the world gone? Days are becoming grim years And grim years are becoming aeons of rot. As I rest my face in my filthy hands lassitude cripples my tired frame. This long road is coming to an end. I am returning to the oldest place I know A swamp at the far end of the earth, choked with the vilest of all things. The perfect place to die. The stench of humility will be all that welcomes me back into the mire of this fetid hellhole. I am tired of total failure. I am afraid of a dismal future This swamp will reduce my life to carrion. This is the epicenter of my death.