Solipsism

This is not literature, it is abandonment.

A man can live long enough to have nothing left,

to exhaust generosity, to find himself alone in the world.

In a few months the lease on my apartment will expire

and I will have nowhere to go.

I have no right to ask favors of anyone, and so I will not.

I have only survived this long by taking advantage of the kindness of women,

but they can’t care about someone who doesn’t care about himself.

I suppose it will be sometime in the month of June, then.

Twenty six years old.

It seems like such a waste.