Rendered

I've found that happiness and despair are close siblings who tussle and feud over playthings like me you and that poor chap who offed himself down the hall. I'm staring at the same cracked grout-grey drywall, musing on his fate. Maybe he's enjoying the void. Perhaps he's stretched out on a pitch white beach of infinity, catching some rays from the imploded neon-black sun, hurtling a few inches farther away each year.