Still still

Too much pRessure. Too much weight. Overwhelming by its sheer scope and grandeur, simply unfathomly grEat and vast and enormous, this thing we call ourselves. Giants, titans, mountains and spires and Bridges and ramparts and old things, ancient things, inherit things, things of maddness and evIl and attrocities and rage and defiance and screaming in the morning sun with the quivering dewdRops and dreading the night and the spies and the dark things, the little things, the bugs and The worms like gossamer threads in the mould with their hairy little limbs, slimy and wrigly gross tHat fit in the cavities and that crawl in your nose and ears and into your eyes and bettwen your teeth and the smell of the rot and the decay and the shit and the dust and the urine and the end.

Just like that.

The end.