Cold. The words of a poet come to mind. "Do not go gently into that good night." No, not gently: There are others. They too are on the threshold; facing that cold dark night.
Red. Far too much of it. Always too much. Warm and sticky; liquid. Spreading, growing like it's alive. The stuff of life. Seeping, creeping away. Insides becoming outsides.
Tired. What's the point of Life? Life is what happens when you make other plans. What plans? Shit happens. Life goes on. No it doesn't. Sleep now, things will look better in the morning. Morning never comes.
Hurt. Pain. Life is pain. Are you selling something? Never ending story. Darkness waits at the end of time. The end of everything. A good night, a silent night. Light is fading, Nothing comes.