Sure, I'm dramatic and sloppily semi-cynical and semi-sentimental. But, in leisure years I could grow and choose my way. Now I am living on the edge. We all are on the brink, and it takes a lot of nerve, a lot of energy, to teeter on the edge, looking over, looking down into the windy blackness and not being quite able to make out, through the yellow, stinking mist, just what lies below in the slime, in the oozing, vomit-streaked slime; and so I could go on, my thoughts, writing much, trying to find the core, the meaning for myself.
The author reflects on their existence, acknowledging a blend of drama and mixed emotions in their life. They recognize that in their earlier years, they had the freedom to choose their path, but now feel they are living on the edge, facing uncertainty and chaos. This precariousness requires immense courage and energy to maintain balance while confronting the unknown.
The imagery of looking into a dark abyss conveys a sense of struggle, as the author grapples with internal thoughts and the desire to uncover deeper meaning in their experiences. Writing serves as a means to explore these complexities and seek clarity amidst the confusion and turmoil they observe around them.
