I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through — Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
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I want to feel the rush of death, the high of utter nothingness, the fragility of my own mortality. Let it slip through my fingers like sand and when it's gone for good, I'll be none the wiser.

— Kayla Krantz, When Night Falls: A Collection of Short Stories and Poems
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We could endlessly reminisce, live in the past to an unhealthy degree, then politely kill each other some winter night b — Timothy Schaffert, The Coffins of Little Hope
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None of us are getting out of here alive". — R. Alan Woods
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