Awaiting execution at dawn

He knows it is coming.
The bullet. The axe. The noose. The electrical currents. The surging poison in his veins.
And everything is out of his control. There is nothing he can say or do to stop the end.
Conclusions aren't always for the better.
No amount of tears can stop the verdict. No pleading, no mercy.
Wishing to not give up while at the same time realizing that resistance is pointless, he quietly asks for a smoke (he hates smoking) probably just for the cliche.
He asks for a beer.
Sitting on the floor with a smoke in one hand, a beer in the other, he stares out into space.
left side: end it now
right side: maybe living is worth it
being hopelessly adrift among his thoughts, it was all going to hell.
he knows it is coming
maybe it won't be painful. like all the people in the world, all the broken toys that just keep trying to have someone play with them.
mouths and legs and hands and shoulders and backs- sale 50% off.
finding company only with late nights and one's insanity.
ever feel dead but still alive?