Thomas was unusually afraid of death. He'd lie in bed, kept up til early hours while his mind would endlessly play out processes of aging, decay and demise. His sleep became thinner, as did he, who gradually grew gaunt from exhaustion. He tired further and further, while in turn any barriers which existed separating his weary thoughts of the night and his more alert and relevant thoughts of the day began eroding, and it was not too long before he limped through his days in a half-lucid dream, crippled by this ever present fear.
Thomas was a man who snapped,
Life for him was too much
When death was attached,
And his fear of ceasing to exist
Lead him to fling himself off a cliff,
Sillily then causing
His existence to be ceased.
He realised the apparent irony in his final act, and couldn't help but chuckle to himself one last time, before his head and back cracked on the jagged rocks below.
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