Falling.
I drop like a tear, drop like the last rebelling angel out of heaven spinning down for the deep. Those ever-familiar flames lick my eyes dry, even though I beg the darkness for a tear. Just one. I can cry for hours and no tears come, not a single one. Emotional impotence. Love and desire and possibility, alas: and no consummation- Sometimes the end of the whole god damned world, and the rest are merely beginnings, new starts into. . . what? Carbon copies of times and places I've been already. Memories I chose to forget, tears which I spent years ago. I'll give you a penny for a new kind of pain. The rest are all old hat. Even anguish is boring today.
-Omar, the tentmaker