Slouching Toward Nirvana

af Charles Bukowski

in this place there are the dead, the deadly and the dying. there is the cross, the builders of the cross and the burners of the cross. the pattern of my life forms like a cheap shadow on the wall before me. my love what is left of it now must crawl to wherever it can crawl. the strongest know that death is final and the happiest are those gifted with the shortest journey.